


To Every Thing There Is A Season

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Demon!Sheriff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Scott/Stiles brotp, contains spoilers for season 3a, demon!sheriff only for one chapter though, humans in the pack and all that fun stuff, just a lot of pack alright, season 3b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Cora return at the beginning of January to find that everything has changed in their absence, but their places in the pack remained open for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Every Thing There Is A Season

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I want/think/need/etc. season 3b to be. Basically, if I was writing it, this is what it would be. To be updated as I can manage it.

The air was crisp when Derek returned to stay. It felt fresh, full of the corny “new year promises” that Cora insisted were present in the early days of January.

It was also dark as all hell. He snuck through the woods into the backyard of the childhood home he and Cora had been repairing on the weekends. He had refrained from informing anyone that he was back in town, but he figured that would change, since Scott could probably already sense his presence in Beacon Hills, being the Alpha and all. Derek snorted and took off at a run, weaving a path through the trees. He could see headlights outside his house, and he held back a sigh. Of _course_ they would be waiting for him. He motioned for Cora to follow him inside through the front door like nothing was wrong. She rolled her eyes, but she followed his lead and shifted back to fully human anyways.

Derek recognized the cars outside; there was Stiles’ jeep, repaired even if the front was a little dented, Scott’s mom’s car, Lydia’s sleek car, and Allison’s father’s van. There was one small blue Bug he did not recognize at all. As he and his sister approached their house, the car doors all started opening, kids coming out of every vehicle.

“Welcome back,” Stiles greeted first. Derek continued past them all through the front door, turning around in the doorway.

“Come inside, what are you waiting for?” Derek motioned inside. Cora followed up the stairs after him, breezing past her brother into their repaired home. Stiles moved first, following after her. After him came Lydia, then Allison. Scott followed Allison, and Isaac followed him. Ethan and Aiden came together, trying to ignore the looks Derek was giving them. Danny followed directly behind Ethan, seemingly completely unafraid. Derek rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him.

“It’s good of you to come back just as your uncle’s decided to start attacking us,” Stiles opened, taking a seat on Derek’s sofa. Derek’s brow furrowed; the rest of the group piled into the living room, taking their spots like there was a pre-arranged seating plan.

“Peter’s attacking you?” Derek demanded. Stiles leaned forward, ignoring Scott’s hand on his shoulder as his best friend sat beside him on the sofa.

“Yeah, he wants his Alpha abilities,” Stiles explained. “So, he’s been trying to kill us to get to Scott and then kill Scott.”

“He took Stiles first,” Isaac explained. Stiles pulled his shirt up to reveal an angry, jagged scar crossing down from his right shoulder down to his left hip.

“Scott almost turned me because of it,” Stiles informed him, tugging his shirt back down and adjusting his jacket. “I think he’s looking to take Danny or Allison next, if he doesn’t try for me again.”

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Cora interrupted. “When did Stiles become the Alpha?”

Both Stiles and Scott looked at her in confusion, but everyone else shook their heads jerkily at her. Her brow furrowed.

“What? Are we not supposed to talk about it?” Cora asked. Derek frowned at them.

“It’s not unusual for someone else to help lead the pack,” Derek offered, keeping his eyes on Stiles even as he spoke. “It _is_ unusual for that someone else to be a human, and not the Alpha’s mate.”

“Whoah!” Stiles and Scott exclaimed at the same time.

“He’s not my mate,” Scott insisted. Isaac blushed and looked down at his hands. Danny hid a laugh behind his hand; Ethan hit the side of his head.

“I’m not helping lead the pack,” Stiles assured Derek, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. Lydia, sitting on Stiles’ other side, let her hand rest on Stiles’ knee, her thumb rubbing circles into the seam of his jeans on the inside of his knee.

“Okay, okay.” Cora waved her hands around. “What did we miss?”

“A hell of a lot,” Isaac laughed. Allison shoved him over, and he toppled off the arm of the sofa into Danny’s lap, but Danny just laughed with him. Derek blinked at his - well, formerly his - pack. Now they were Scott’s pack. They had nothing to do with him. He was a beta now.

“Stiles, sum it up for us,” Lydia instructed primly. Stiles pat her hand on his knee and leaned even further forward, his arms waving around as he spoke.

“Let’s see, okay.” Stiles pointed to Danny. “Danny’s in the know now. We needed to protect him, and, plus, this is just easier. He’s also fucking Ethan.”

“Dude!” Danny exclaimed at the same time Ethan said, “Hell, yeah, I am.”

Aiden flicked his brother’s temple.

“Don’t interrupt,” Stiles scolded, and Danny, Ethan, and Aiden all immediately looked ashamed, shrinking down a bit. Cora frowned slightly at them. “Anyways, Allison has been training more with her dad. You should see her moves. She’s badass.” Allison beamed. “Lydia’s been working on her… you know, special abilities. We figured out that her screams come as an omen, a death always follows. She’s also crazy intelligent, which I always knew but now everyone knows, so she helps with research.”

Lydia grinned widely at him, patting Stiles’ knee. Stiles smiled at her before continuing.

“Lydia is also still dating Aiden, they’re going strong,” Stiles informed them. “Ethan and Aiden are a part of our pack now. They needed a place to be and, under Scott, they’ve become betas.”

“We’re okay with it,” Ethan spoke up from the floor. Aiden shoved him over.

“Dude, don’t interrupt,” Aiden hissed. Ethan apologized to Stiles and looked down at his hands. Stiles waved the apology off.

“They’ve been helping us train lately. Scott’s dad came back. And Scott,” and here Stiles clapped his Alpha’s shoulder, “has become the best Alpha I’ve ever known. No offense, Derek, but-”

“None taken,” Derek assured him. Isaac frowned deeply at him.

“Don’t interrupt, Derek,” Isaac said softly. Stiles reached over and pat Isaac’s hand before continuing as though nobody had spoken.

“-Scott’s really pulled us all together. Isaac’s really coming together, too. His training really came along, he’s doing fantastic. He’s the one who found me.” Stiles beamed proudly at Isaac, who ducked his head under the praise. “And that’s about it, I suppose.”

“Besides the fact that our uncle is attacking,” Cora added. Stiles nodded.

“We’ve had a couple problems, but we solved them ourselves pretty easily,” Stiles informed them. “Is there any particular reason you two decided to come back now?”

“The house was finished,” Derek answered simply. Stiles nodded and leaned back against the sofa, ignoring the eyes of the pack watching him, save for Scott, who continued to watch Derek.

“You’re back for good now?” Scott clarified. Both Derek and Cora nodded once. “Okay, good, because it’s movie night and we’re watching _The Princess Bride_.”

“Derek’s in charge of snacks, I call it!” Isaac exclaimed. Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles forced him out the door anyways.

“I think this is the second beginning of something beautiful,” Cora commented as she watched her brother drive away from the window. Stiles laughed and moved to the Hales’ kitchen to pull out the ingredients for buffalo chicken that Cora assured him were there.


	2. A Time To Every Purpose Under Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek watches and tries to help as everything falls into place, even as everything seems to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you guys are familiar with Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, but that's what this story is going to follow. I'm going to try to match up each chapter with each "time". 
> 
> I'm only familiar with it because I like how it sounds, I'm not actually religious; I'm an Atheist. Fun fact.

Derek awoke the next morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing and the itching sensation that something was off. He threw off the covers, tugged on a pair of sweatpants he had abandoned in the corner of his bedroom, and raced into the hallway and down the stairs. He nearly collided with Cora, who must have done the same thing; she was still tugging on a cardigan over her tank top. Whoever was at the door must be leaning on the doorbell.

Cora froze halfway down the steps; Derek paused on the step below hers, watching as she sniffed at the air. He did the same, and recognized the familiar scent at once. They both unfroze at the same time and continued down the steps, Cora wrenching open the front door at the bottom of the stairs.

“Isaac, what the hell is wrong?” Cora demanded. Derek moved around her, dragging a half-shifted Isaac inside by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“They’ve got Stiles again,” Isaac answered her breathlessly, his eyes an unnatural blue. Derek frowned at him.

“What happened to your eyes?” Derek asked. Isaac’s brow furrowed as he turned to face Derek, his brilliantly blue eyes flashing.

“We told you the other day that I found Stiles,” Isaac said before turning back to Cora, clearly deciding she would be easier to communicate with. “Scott said to come get you two to help. You can fill Lydia’s usual position, Cora, since Lydia’s taken Stiles’.”

“You have positions?” Derek asked, and Isaac closed his eyes for a brief second before he looked over at Derek.

“Scott leads the pack. Stiles does the research and he’s Scott’s right hand in these things. Lydia and Allison attack from the sides, Aiden and Ethan take Scott’s flanks, Danny’s a distraction when we need him and Ethan lets him,” Isaac explained less-than-patiently. “Chris usually ends up helping Allison and Lydia, and the Sheriff gets involved when he needs to. Cora’s going to take Lydia’s position, since Lydia’s Stiles’ back-up, and, Derek, you’ve got enough brute force to help Aiden and Ethan. Got it?”

“Yes,” Cora replied for the both of them. “But, Isaac, I thought it was just Un- just Peter. What do you mean, ‘they’ve got Stiles’?”

Isaac dropped his eyes from Derek to Cora, his face changing as he shifted fully without even seeming to notice. “Your uncle’s got a pack.”

Derek growled, and Cora reacted instinctively, grabbing Derek by the back of his neck and holding him back. She met Isaac’s eyes calmly.

“Show us where we need to go,” Cora said. Isaac motioned outside and barely waited for them to shut the door before he took off.

* * *

“Why do they have to keep taking Stiles?” Lydia spat in frustration, her hands clenched so tightly on her steering wheel that her knuckles were an icy white. Allison, shoved in the passenger seat with her crossbow and a quiver filled with arrows, laid a hand on Lydia’s thigh. Aiden and Ethan both leaned forward protectively from the backseat, Danny shoved in between them uncomfortably.

“Peter knows Scott’s weak spots, and it’s his pack,” Ethan offered. Aiden nodded sagely.

“Stiles and Mrs. McCall are his best bets, but he knows Stiles is a better weak spot for all of us,” Aiden added. Lydia’s grip tightened impossibly.

“Scott better know what he’s doing,” Lydia muttered darkly. Aiden and Ethan each laid a hand on one of her shoulders. She was following Stiles’ Jeep, a familiar pattern for her, except for the change in the driver; Isaac was driving, with Scott in the passenger seat and Derek and Cora in the back. Behind Lydia was the Sheriff in his police car, Chris Argent in his passenger seat.

“We’ll find him,” Danny assured her. “We always do.”

“Damn well better.” Lydia took a sharp turn when Isaac did, following the Jeep down a dirt road. Both Ethan and Aiden straightened, and the air in the car seemed to be electrified all of a sudden. Lydia immediately pulled over and turned around.

“Go ahead,” was all she had to say before the doors were open and the twins were shooting off into the woods, followed by Cora and Derek and following Scott and Isaac. Lydia wrenched her own door open, allowing Danny to drag her onto his back; they had learned months ago that he was faster and willing to carry more than his own weight. She shifted, grabbing onto his chest with one arm and wrapping her legs around his waist. She used her free hand to pull a small satchel out of the inner pocket of her jacket.

“I’ve got wolfsbane and mountain ash, but God knows nobody has the level of magic Stiles has, so we really can’t use the mountain ash properly,” Lydia shouted, tugging at the string on the cloth satchel as she did so. The Sheriff jogged up beside Danny and took the satchel from her.

“We can use the wolfsbane,” the Sheriff stated firmly. Allison grabbed the satchel from him and tossed it to Danny, who dropped Lydia and caught the satchel in one motion. Lydia landed easily on her smartly sneaker-clad feet and took off at a run beside Allison. “We can’t afford to waste the mountain ash right now.”

“Sheriff, Chris, you’re going to want to get your wolfsbane bullets ready,” Aiden called over his shoulder. Both men nodded and pulled out their guns and special cases, sliding the bullets into place even as they ran.

“There’s wolfsbane powder in there, Danny,” Lydia shouted to her fellow human, pulling a plastic bag out of one of the Allison’s back pockets. “I’ve got some here, too.”

“Lydia, Danny, flank Cora,” Scott hissed, slowing at the edge of the woods. The other wolves instinctively stilled when he did, and the humans stuttered to a stop right behind their line.

“Is he in there?” Sheriff Stilinski hissed under his breath to Ethan, who nodded once. Derek watched the whole process move fluidly around him; Cora slid into the place Allison motioned her towards as easily as if she had been there training with them this whole time. Derek shifted and crouched, falling into line beside Aiden.

“You guys,” Scott motioned to his right, the pack members on that side mostly human, “go chaos back door. And you,” and here Scott motioned to the remaining pack members on his left, “follow me, we’re going motion isolation. Ready?”

Everyone nodded, nearly completely in sync, save for Cora and Derek, who seemed to be at a loss. Lydia picked up on this and nudged Scott, motioning towards the siblings with one hand. Scott turned to them, seemingly having nearly forgotten they were there.

“You two just go forward, cover Lydia and Danny, alright?” Scott said quietly. Cora nodded, and Derek did as she did, shifting closer to the two humans clutching the wolfsbane powder. “Isaac and I will retrieve Stiles. Sheriff, please, don’t get yourself hurt. We’ve got him.”

“I trust you, Scott,” the Sheriff replied, his head down as he adjusted his gun. Scott clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and turned, and everyone seemed to slide into set positions, clearly practiced many, many times.

“Go,” Scott whispered, and everyone shot off in different directions, moving in ways Derek could barely trace, never mind understand. He hoped the same thing would happen to Peter and whoever he had in his insane pack as he tracked after Lydia, leaving Cora to keep Danny safe. There was chaos on all sides as they attacked the strange werewolves in the woods, led by Peter Hale, who was crouching, teeth bared, fully shifted, his eyes a harsh blue.

“Look who’s back,” Peter growled, grinning. “My darling niece and nephew. Welcome home.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Lydia spat before she blew a fistful of wolfsbane into Peter’s face. He reached to lash out at her, but Derek knocked his hand sideways, breaking his uncle’s wrist in the process. He laid eyes on Stiles just beyond Peter, and Scott just off to his right, struggling to fight past two fresh, yellow-eyed betas to get to him. The bangs of gunshots and the whizzing of arrows resounded off the trees. Before Derek even knew what was happening, Isaac, Danny, and Cora were launching in front of the nearly-unconscious Stiles. Danny tugged the satchel open while Isaac lifted Stiles’ hand, cupping it for him. Danny poured mountain ash into Stiles’ palm.

Stiles was murmuring words Derek had never heard before, but which his werewolf hearing picked up with ease. He sounded drained, but he dragged himself through the whole thing before the mountain ash exploded outwards, knocking all the werewolves in Peter’s “pack” - Peter included - on their asses, unconscious. Stiles watched them, his eyes barely open, and laughed once.

“God,” Stiles breathed, falling forward when Cora released her grip on his shoulders. Scott shot forward and dragged Stiles up into a fireman’s carry. “God, _God_ , you guys executed that well.”

Isaac laughed, even as he ripped off strips off his own shirt to tie around Stiles’ thighs and upper arms. Derek noticed for the first time, through the haze of their fight and the clouding of his senses around the overwhelming thick feeling in his mind of _pack in danger_ , that the smell of blood was thick around them. “Thanks, Stiles. You did a good job with them.”

Stiles’ head fell to the side, and he grinned at Isaac, who was trying his best to keep up with Scott. “Did good, ‘saac.”

“Guess we’re calling you Zack now,” Scott teased, even though his voice was heavy and dark as he raced through the woods, his pack at his heels. Isaac pushed Stiles’ mess of matted hair out of his face.

“If you don’t make it, they’ll never get rid of the nickname, so you better make it,” Isaac threatened. Stiles’ grin widened a bit before his face went slack and his eyes shut. Scott sped up.

\----------

“Call Melissa,” Isaac instructed over his shoulder. Chris Argent was pulling his phone out of his pocket before the two words were even out of Isaac’s mouth. Scott and the Sheriff were carrying Stiles as careful as they could into the Hales’ house, which Stiles had declared to be their new headquarters days earlier, only several days after the Hale siblings’ return. They deposited him carefully on the sofa while Chris paced back and forth, talking into his phone rapidly. He hung up and turned to the pack.

“She’ll be here in ten minutes minimum,” Chris informed them. Scott was already taking a bunch of old scarves from Lydia that they kept on hand in her trunk and replacing Isaac’s makeshift tourniquets with them. The Sheriff had his hand pressed against his son’s forehead, moving down now and then to check his pulse. “It’s going to be okay, John.”

“I know,” the Sheriff murmured, kneeling down on the floor next to Stiles’ head on the arm of the sofa. “I know, I know.”

Scott worked hurriedly, and as well as he could, but Stiles’ skin was pale and everyone sat up straighter at the sound of gravel crunching under Melissa McCall’s tires as she pulled up outside the house. She seemed not to lock the car or even shut the door behind her as she rushed inside.

“What happened?” Melissa demanded as she came down to Stiles’ side, dragging a familiar hefty medical bag with her. She set it down on the ground beside her as she and Lydia tore Stiles’ clothes off of him, leaving him in his boxers, bleeding all over the sofa.

“Peter’s pack,” Scott answered breathlessly, slumping down next to her and beginning to pull all the equipment out of her bag. “Like last time, I think.”

“Okay,” Melissa murmured, mostly to herself. She shifted Stiles, her eyes roaming to find the worst of the injuries; she stilled nearly immediately. “His shoulder - he has a bite.”

Everyone in the room seemed to turn to stone, but Derek moved first, sliding between Melissa and the sofa and pressing his face into Stiles’ neck. Nobody moved as Derek stood back up and shook his head.

“He doesn’t smell like a wolf,” Derek informed the room. Everyone seemed to let out a collective held breath at the same time. “I don’t- I don’t know how, the bite mark-”

“This happened once before,” Allison explained. “Stiles’ magic forced it out.”

Derek frowned at her. Cora slid up beside him. “I was meaning to ask about that. I didn’t know Stiles had magic.”

“Deaton discovered it. Not too long after you left, actually,” Allison told them, though her eyes remained on Stiles as she spoke. “He’s really powerful. It’s kind of insane. Otherwise, God knows how he’d keep healing like this.”

“You asked why my eyes are blue now,” Isaac murmured, appearing at Derek’s side like a ghost. “I found Stiles the first time, and I was carrying him when he died. He came back, but it doesn’t matter. It was the death of an innocent person.”

“I’m sorry,” Cora said softly. Isaac nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring down at Melissa as she worked.

“Welcome back,” Danny said as he passed Derek and Cora to place a bowl of water down next to Melissa.

“Yeah, guys,” Scott threw over his shoulder as he stood, Lydia replacing him at Melissa’ side. “Welcome back to the pack.”


	3. A Time To Be Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is not helpless, thank you very much, and Scott has a Very Important Question or two to ask of Derek.

Stiles groaned loudly as no less than three hands shot out to push him back down onto the sofa. “Come on, guys, I’m fine, I just want to get some water!”

“I’ll get it for you,” Isaac offered, not waiting for an answer before he took off towards the kitchen. Stiles rolled his eyes and allowed Allison to maneuver him back down.

“I’m telling you, I can feel it healing. I’m going to be fine,” Stiles sighed, throwing his head back over the arm of the sofa.

“‘Going to be fine’ does not mean ‘fine’, Stiles,” Derek murmured from the armchair beside the sofa. Stiles arched his neck to look over at Derek.

“It’s pretty close, though,” Stiles argued, seemingly just for the sake of arguing, before he slouched back down. Cora came jogging through the open front door, a plastic bag gripped tightly in one hand, and Stiles visibly perked up. “Cora, thank God, someone reasonable. Help me out.”

“No way,” Cora snorted.

“You’re the only person who listens to me,” Stiles complained, shifting to sit up. Derek’s hand shot out before anyone else’s could, lightly grabbing Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him back down. Stiles threw a half-heated glare over his shoulder before returning his attention to Cora. Derek released him. “You let us use this place as our HQ-”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s still the Hale pack,” Cora interrupted. “We belong on Hale land.”

“We’ve only been back two weeks,” Derek interjected. Cora shot him a dirty look.

“They’re the new pack, so they’re family, Derek,” Cora scolded. “What did Mom always say about family.” Derek leaned back in the armchair, looking down at his lap. “Derek.”

“I know, family comes first. You never forget family,” Derek mumbled downwards. Cora pat his head as she passed and tossed the bag down on Stiles’ chest. Stiles scrambled into a sitting position and started pulling the items out of the bag. He tugged out a short stack of comic books, a bag of Reese’s Pieces, _How To Train Your Dragon_ on DVD, and his new prescription bottle of Adderall. He beamed up at Cora.

“Thanks,” Stiles said sincerely. Cora ruffled his hair and moved to the kitchen to help Isaac with lunch. Derek watched silently as his sister moved around everybody as though it were incredibly natural to her, and wondered, not for the first time, if he was the only one who felt somewhat out of place. Cora had taken to the whole situation quickly and with remarkable ease, and Derek felt like an outsider; he felt other. He was used to the feeling, and, as soon as he identified it, he forced the emotion down to be analyzed at a much, much later date.

Derek’s head lifted when he heard Scott pulling up to the house, and Stiles looked up from reading the advertisement for a new NBC drama on the back of one of the comic books at the sudden motion.

“Scott home?” Stiles asked. Derek turned to him and raised an eyebrow, but Stiles just nodded once and returned his attention to the advertisement as though everything was normal. Scott came through the open front door, hanging his jacket up on the coatrack by the door and continuing into the living room until he was next to Stiles on the sofa.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott greeted, helping to gather all the items back into the plastic bag. “We’ve got to bring you home. Doctor’s orders.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, clearly disbelieving. Scott paused to offer him a sheepish grin.

“Well, nurse’s orders. Sheriff’s orders, too,” Scott informed him. “Ethan and Aiden are on first watch.”

“I keep telling you, nobody needs to watch me,” Stiles sighed. Aiden appeared behind the sofa like a ghost, apparently manifesting out of thin air.

“Danny and I are coming with, if it helps,” Lydia spoke up from the kitchen. Stiles raised his head, and Danny waved from his kitchen stool at the counter. Stiles grinned at them.

“It helps a bit,” Stiles allowed, grabbing his plastic bag and moving to stand. Ethan halted him with a hand on his chest in the same breath that Aiden swept in and hefted Stiles up bridal-style. Stiles sighed and went limp and boneless dramatically. “I can walk just fine, you don’t need to carry me, I assure you.”

Lydia came up beside Aiden and ran her hand over the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw. “Just let him do it, and I’ll make you brownies, how’s that sound?”

Stiles grinned at her, even though his head was hanging upside-down over Aiden’s arm. “That sounds like a plan.” Aiden looked over at Lydia, who nodded and made a shooing motion with her hand. Danny waved goodbye and followed the four of them out the front door, shutting it behind him as he went. Cora fell tiredly onto the sofa, seemingly trying to further connect herself with Stiles’ scent, as she had been subtly attempting to do with the whole pack without frightening or overwhelming them. Scott sat down on the sofa next to her, watching her evenly for a moment before he leaned closer to her.

“Do you mind if I talk to your brother for a bit?” Scott asked quietly. Cora looked up, and her eyes flickered over to Derek. All three of them knew he could hear them, but Scott seemed content enough to pretend he did not, or at least Scott did not care that he could. Cora’s attention returned to Scott, scanning his face. He smiled, and Derek recognized the expression Scott used when he was trying to be charming or persuasive. In Derek’s opinion, it was neither, but it seemed to work well enough for Scott’s purposes, most of the time.

“Sure,” Cora agreed finally, pushing off from the sofa to stand. “I’ll go to the grocery store, get something to make for dinner.”

“Call Stiles, Sundays are Family Dinner Nights at his house,” Scott commented automatically. “I’ll text you, okay?”

Cora blinked and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, sure.”

“Thanks, Cora,” Scott said sincerely, even as he turned to face Derek. Cora waved, snatched Derek’s keys from the coffee table, and took off. Derek leaned forward in his armchair.

“What is it, Scott?” Derek asked, trying not to sound as exasperated with Scott as he was used to. Scott straightened a bit, seemingly noticing - even if it was only subconsciously - the respect that Derek was trying to extend to him.

“I already talked to Cora about this,” Scott began. Derek stiffened. “Don’t be like that. She said she’d talk to you, too. But… I need you to make a decision. I wanted to assume what answer you would give me, but Stiles said assuming makes an ass out of you and me, so I figured I might as well just-”

“Say it, Scott,” Derek interrupted, cutting off the flow of words. Scott nodded a couple of times, gathering himself, before he made direct eye contact with Derek.

“I need to know if you’re going to stay with us, join Peter, or go off on your own,” Scott finally said. Derek sat back slightly, his brow creasing as he frowned.

“Scott,” Isaac spoke up from the kitchen, and Derek thought his tone was a little scolding, if he was not wrong. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what, Isaac?” Scott asked, twisting to look at Isaac over the back of the sofa. Isaac leaned over, his head falling down next to Scott’s as he looked Derek over.

“He _feels_ like pack, Scott,” Isaac said softly. “You can feel it. He’s still a part of our pack. Cora is, too. You can feel it. Look for it.”

Scott stared at Derek, just as Isaac was, and Derek scowled at them both, uncomfortable and feeling out of the loop. Suddenly, Scott’s whole expression opened up, and he looked moments away from _beaming_ at Derek. Which was strange for anyone, especially anyone who knew Derek. Scott quickly reined it in as he turned his face up to Isaac’s.

“I need to talk to him alone for a bit,” Scott murmured. Isaac nodded.

“I’ll go for a run,” Isaac offered, his hand skimming the material of Scott’s shirt where it was bunched on his shoulder before he left them alone. Scott waited - presumably, until Isaac was out of his hearing range, which Derek could only guess at since Scott’s Alpha powers were stronger than the Beta powers Derek now possessed. When he judged the distance to be far enough, he stood. Derek followed suit, shooting to his feet and standing toe-to-toe with Scott, on even footing.

“Can you handle being a Beta in my pack?” Scott asked, cutting right to the chase. No smoke and mirrors, no beating around the bush. Derek still felt vaguely uncomfortable that the Hale pack, _his_ family pack, was being referred to as _my pack_ to someone his family never knew, but he could, for lack of a better word, appreciate what Scott was doing.

“I can,” Derek promised. Scott looked him over quietly before he took a small step closer.

“I work with the Argents. Allison’s in the pack, and so are Ethan and Aiden.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve got humans - Stiles, Lydia, Danny. The Sheriff works with us, and so does my mom. Are you going to be able to handle this?”

“Did Cora say yes to all of this?” Derek asked. Scott frowned slightly, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“For the most part. She wanted to wait to hear what you had to say, too, but she seemed… pretty okay with it all,” Scott answered honestly. Derek nodded, looking down at their shoes before tipping his head up to stare into Scott’s eyes.

“I can,” Derek repeated firmly. “I can do it. It’s my pack.”

“It’s _our_ pack,” Scott reminded him. Derek dipped his head once. “Okay. I’ll text Cora, you’ll meet her at the store, and I’ll go collect Isaac. Alright?”

“Why do I have to meet her at the store?” Derek asked. “I thought you said tonight was Family Dinner Night or whatever it was for Stiles and the Sheriff.”

Scott looked confused. “It is Family Dinner Night. The whole pack goes over there.”

Scott watched whatever expression Derek had on his face for a brief moment before he left the house, taking off towards the woods to find Isaac. Derek stood there, stuck on Scott’s easy connection between _pack_ and _family_. His phone chimed in his pocket, and he shook himself before he pulled out the phone to read the message.

 _I have no idea what kurczak pieczony po wiejsku is. Google it and get your ass over here._ the text from Cora read. Derek rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I made a really fucking long outline for this story - the outline is, actually, I think, longer than this chapter. I never even make outlines (and if I do make 'em, they're usually useless shit), either, so this surprised the hell outta me. I actually have a very detailed plot for this to follow, and a good ending secured. So, I guess I'll actually finish something I start, for once! Congratulations on following the only thing I'll probably ever finish!
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions.


	4. A Time To Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's really not that bad of a babysitter, as far as babysitters of eighteen-year-olds go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of scars and of torture, though the torture is kinda glazed over, since it's depicted in dialogue. Just a heads-up.

Stiles brushed off the help that both his father and the pack tried to offer him, waving them away in favor of dragging himself to his feet.

“It’s really not that bad,” Stiles assured them. “Deaton’s been helping me work on healing. I’m not that bad at it.”

“We know that,” the Sheriff said, before anyone else could speak. “We just…”

Stiles laid his hand on his dad’s forearm. “I know. But it’s going to be okay. This isn’t like last time, I promise.”

“Okay, good,” the Sheriff exhaled. He eyed the pack in his next breath. Derek stiffened instinctually, but everybody else just stared back at him. Cora looked nervously between Derek and the rest of the pack, all gathered in the living room. “Which one of you’s staying tonight?”

“Derek,” Stiles answered, gripping the edge of the back of the sofa. Derek, leaning against the wall, straightened up and frowned. “Don’t give me that face. I have to talk to you.”

“You don’t have to-” Isaac began, but Derek waved a hand in his direction. The corners of Stiles’ lips turned down slightly. Scott glared in Derek’s direction.

“I can stay,” Derek said. Ethan and Aiden pushed themselves to their feet.

“Then we can go,” Ethan said, grabbing Danny’s wrist and helping him to stand from the floor. Lydia stood from the armchair she had folded herself into, and Allison pushed away from the wall.

“I’m only down the street,” Scott murmured in Stiles’ ear, lingering at his best friend’s side. Stiles nodded and tapped Scott’s forehead; Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion. Scott shot a last look in Derek’s direction before he joined Isaac at the door. The Sheriff paused beside Scott to wish him goodbye. Cora stood in front of Derek, her arms folded across her chest.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Cora asked. Derek rubbed her upper arms, and she let her crossed arms fall apart. Cora let her head fall to the side slightly.

“Do you trust them?” Derek asked, his voice low. Cora looked over her shoulder briefly before dropping her head back in his direction. Her eyes flicked over his face.

“I think so,” Cora replied, keeping her voice soft. She glanced over at Stiles, standing by the sofa. “They feel like family, Derek. Can’t you feel it? I haven’t felt it in _years_.”

“That’s just because they’re pack,” Derek reminded her. “They’re not our family.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Yeah, my family is just either dead, insane, or you.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Derek asked defensively. Cora placed one of her hands over his on her arm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Derek. You’re my big brother, and you’re all I have left.” Cora pat his hand. “You’re just not exactly the warm type. Not anymore.”

“I still love you,” Derek said softly. Cora smiled at him.

“I know you do. I love you, too,” Cora replied, throwing herself forward and hugging him. Derek wrapped his arms around her easily and, after a beat, buried his face in her neck.

“Even if you don’t trust them, trust me,” Cora said into his shoulder. Derek ran a hand through her hair before she stepped back. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Better be,” Derek said. Cora grinned at him before saying her goodbyes to the Sheriff and Stiles and following Scott out of the house. Stiles and Derek automatically made eye contact before Stiles’ quickly broke it to look at his father.

“I’m gonna head up,” Stiles informed him. The Sheriff shut the front door and moved to take Stiles’ arm, but Stiles waved him off. “I can get up there fine. Besides, Derek’ll be right behind me.”

The Sheriff looked Derek over, almost as if he had forgotten he was there. “Alright. Go ahead.” The Sheriff leaned in, only taking his eyes off of Derek at the last second before he hugged his son with one arm. “I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest.”

“Same to you, Dad,” Stiles replied. The Sheriff disappeared around the hallway’s corner, leaving Derek and Stiles together in the silence. Fortunately - or, rather, unfortunately, from Derek’s point of view - Stiles was utterly incapable of holding his tongue for more than five seconds at a time.

“Scott blew up a mattress in my room the first night,” Stiles began awkwardly. He pushed off from the sofa and started his slow, hobbling path to the stairs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on his feet. “That’s where my babysitter sleeps, if you’re fine with that.”

“It’s fine,” Derek assured him, taking slow steps behind him, ready to catch him if he fell over. Stiles tried his best to ignore him, but, halfway up the stairs, turned around with fairly impressive speed.

“I don’t need you up my ass, Derek, alright?” Stiles snapped before sighing and rubbing his palm over his face. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye and blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ve just been so on edge, but that’s no excuse to just yell at you when you’re only trying to-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted. “It’s fine. I’ll back off.”

Stiles eyed him for a moment before he nodded and turned back around, gripping the railing until his knuckles went ice-white. Derek withdrew his cautious hands and waited until Stiles was two steps further before he continued. Stiles slipped on the very top step and nearly bashed his head against the wall, but Derek grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and held him upright until he got his breath back and regained his balance. He let Derek keep a hand on his shoulder until they reached his room after that.

“I’m just going to change,” Stiles informed him, jerking his thumb towards his dresser and closet. Derek nodded and stiffly took off his boots and jacket. Stiles started stripping off his clothes in the middle of the room, and, upon noticing Derek’s confused expression, paused halfway through pulling his shirt off over his head.

“Scott told me it’s comfortable if I undress in front of pack, because it feels like I trust them,” Stiles explained, his voice partially muffled by his shirt. He pulled it all of the way off. “I can change in the bathroom, if you’re not okay with this.”

“It’s fine,” Derek repeated. He paused, then slid his jeans off in one fluid motion. Stiles whistled.

“That was practiced,” Stiles commented, his tone light. Derek rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the air mattress and steadfastly did not look at Stiles as he undressed. Eventually, Stiles cleared his throat, and Derek turned to see him holding out a pair of pajama pants and a striped t-shirt.

“I’m not going to make you sleep in your clothes, Derek,” Stiles sighed. Derek stood and tentatively took the clothes from Stiles’ hand. “The pants are your size, I’m pretty sure. They fit Ethan last time - don’t worry, I wash them in between uses - and the shirt, I mean. I’m a sentimental bastard, sorry.”

Derek looked down at the shirt, and he remembered the last time he wore it all at once, like being struck by a lightning bolt of memory. He almost laughed, and Stiles picked up on it, though he chose not to comment, instead only smiling and turning to find his own clothes. Derek watched him move and wondered what, exactly, it was that he missed. The long scar cutting a sharp diagonal line across his chest was not the least of it; he was littered in small marks, scars half-healed and long-healed. His skin was a mess. Derek found himself fixated on it, and only snapped back into his own mind when Stiles snapped his fingers.

“Hey, can you keep the ogling to a minimum?” Stiles teased, but the words were heavy. “I’d like to go to sleep with my bones un-jumped, thanks.”

“What happened?” Derek breathed. Stiles looked down at himself, and his face flushed a vibrant red.

“Which one?” Stiles laughed awkwardly as he tugged a pair of sweatpants up over his hips. Derek motioned with a hand at him, but Stiles just rolled his eyes. “You just gestured to _all_ of me.”

“What happened?” Derek asked again, and Stiles ignored the question for a second, rifling through his dresser and surfacing with a long-sleeved top, which he stiffly tugged over his head and pulled at until it covered up to the middles of his palms and over his hips. He sat gingerly in his desk chair, spinning in it until he was facing Derek. He waited for a beat, and Derek started tugging his shirt off. Stiles, seemingly smug with triumph, finally answered the question.

“I won’t go through all of them, since I’ve been collecting them for years, but I’ll go for the big obvious one for now,” Stiles started.

“When you say ‘years’-” Derek began, but Stiles frowned and waved a hand, effectively cutting him off.

“Don’t feel bad, I didn’t tell anyone so you wouldn’t make me stop going. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now.” Stiles shifted so he could pull his shirt up a bit and pointed at the angry line raised in shadowed definition. “This one, right here?” Derek nodded once as he switched shirts. “This is the one Isaac kind of mentioned. You guys left around the end of August, beginning of September. This happened around the middle of October.” Stiles seemed to forget Derek was there as he tugged his shirt’s hem down and back into place. Derek pulled the sweatpants on; they fit, unlike the shirt. He did not mind. “Peter wanted to be the Alpha he used to be. He wanted to take Scott’s power, obviously. But Scott’s actually got a pack now, so it wasn’t as easy as it used to be when it was just him and me. And he was going to take Scott’s mom, he told me, but she was hard to get to at the hospital, and he had a timetable to fit into, and she was usually being watched by Scott or Isaac or Chris or- you get the point. Whereas me, I’m by myself for a good amount of the time, and that makes it easier.

“Werewolves - you guys - you’ve got… a hell of an imagination. I don’t know if you’re anything like your uncle, but, seriously. He’s insane.” Stiles blew out a breath and focused on a poster on the wall. “He wanted our pack because he thought you were in it, mainly, but also because he’s not an Alpha and Scott is. Scott’s the Beacon Hills Alpha now. Peter wanted that. That’s what he told me, when he was ripping me apart, waiting for Scott to come for me. I’m glad I got the whole evil-villain-monologue-before-he-kills-the-heroine thing, it would’ve been a letdown if I didn’t.

“Anyways, he’s doing something - it all started blending together, I don’t remember what exactly - and everything just sort of… blew out. I felt like something, a spark, almost, went off in my brain, like the bright blue ones when you pull a plug out of an outlet the wrong way in the dark, and then everything disappeared.” Stiles shifted, and Derek got the uncomfortable impression that he was glazing over some parts. He forced his hands to unclench from their fists. “When I woke up, I was getting the shit beat out of me by Deaton. Well, that’s what it felt like, anyways; I guess he was just doing chest compressions.”

Stiles shrugged and motioned to himself. “That’s about it. That’s what happened to Isaac’s eyes, too. I technically died, I guess, for about a minute or something while he was carrying me through the woods to Deaton’s, and I guess it doesn’t matter to your wolf genes if the person comes back or not.”

“I suppose not,” Derek offered. “Stiles-”

“I don’t really want to hear it,” Stiles interrupted. “I know what you’re going to say, I really do.”

“Stiles,” Derek continued anyways, “I’m… sorry. For Peter, and for not being here to help.”

Stiles blinked. “I guess I didn’t really know. You don’t have to apologize for Peter. You’re not him.”

“I’m still sorry,” Derek said. He took a seat on his air mattress. “When did you become on level with Scott?”

“Someone had to pull the pack together,” Stiles said, “and Scott was doing a shit job of it. Isaac calls me the pack mom. I’m just glad there’s a pack.”

Derek swallowed and nodded, looking down at his knees. The desk chair squeaked as Stiles stood, and a hand landed on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s head snapped up to look into Stiles’ expressive face, Stiles’ body curved awkwardly to accommodate the position.

“We didn’t go to your house while you were gone, I promise,” Stiles said quietly. Derek waited for him to continue; after a moment, he did. “I missed you.”

Derek paused. “Everything’s changed since we left.”

“We’ve all changed,” Stiles replied. He released Derek’s shoulder and shuffled awkwardly to his bed, climbing in from the left corner at the foot of the bed and dragging himself up until his head hit the pillow. “Get some rest, Derek. And, hit the lights, please?”

Derek stood and knocked the light switch off before climbing into the air bed. He listened as Stiles’ heartbeat quickened, then slowed. He seemed to be holding his breath now and then. Derek bit back a sigh.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell did you give us for dinner?”

A soft chuckle.

“ _Kurczak pieczony po wiejsku_. Something my mom used to make. I’m Polish, you know. Like, a lot of Polish, on both sides. Comes with Stilinski, you know. Anyways, yeah, it’s basically just village-style roasted chicken with onion, garlic, and smoked bacon.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Another exhale of a laugh.

“Thanks. That’s a glowing commendation, coming from you.”

A pause.

“Derek?”

“Yes, Stiles?”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Pascal. Why?”

“Just curious. Mine’s John. After my dad.”

“What’s your first name?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s _embarrassing_. There’s a reason everybody calls me Stiles.”

“I won’t tell anybody.”

Stiles laughed. Derek tried not to smile.

“Promise?”

“Yes, Stiles.”

Another pause.

“My name is Mieczyslaw.”

“Myeh-cheese-suave.”

Stiles full-out laughed that time.

“Close enough.”

“It’s not a bad name.”

“It’s a terrible name, and I won’t stand for your lies.”

A huff from Derek, almost a laugh.

“Get some sleep, Stiles.”

“Derek?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Derek chose not to respond, instead listening to Stiles falling asleep, his breathing evening out and deepening before he was finally unconscious. He rolled onto his side, shut his eyes, and tried to block out the assault of imagined images that descended upon him, focusing instead of his mental pronunciation of Mieczyslaw. Just in case. You never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta, so, please don't kill me?  
> Also, if you have a ridiculous, unnecessary, negative comment, please kindly take it somewhere else. I don't need to read that here.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions.


	5. A Time To Plant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek starts settling into a routine, and all the plants start taking root.

The months from January to April passed with alarming speed.

Much to Derek’s surprise, by the end of January, Stiles was fully healed. He even showed off by doing a cartwheel on his front lawn, which ended with him colliding with the sidewalk head-first. Scott leached the pain out, and then the two of them made snow angels before initiating a snowball fight with the rest of the pack. Derek waved them off, but Stiles dragged him in anyways, using him as a shield while he made snowballs. Stiles turned on him within minutes, pelting him in the temple with a snowball before taking off into the backyard. Derek called, “I’ll be right back,” to the rest of the pack, then chased after Stiles, tackling him into the snow and sitting on his chest while he rubbed snow into his face.

When February came, Stiles made Valentines for all the pack members and slipped them under their front doors. Cora invited Stiles and Allison over for a Valentine’s Day dinner, but Allison declined, going out instead with her father. Stiles showed up with a bouquet of yellow roses for Cora and a box of condoms for Derek, which Derek promptly launched at Stiles' head. Stiles also brought a Tupperware container of _krówki_ , declaring when Derek opened the lid that “his _rodzina_ only got the best,” to which Derek replied that he did not know that Stiles knew Polish. Stiles informed him that he only spoke Polish when necessary. Derek accepted this as Cora accepted her roses; the _krówki_ was delicious.

The end of February saw Isaac and Scott start “officially” dating, which threw Derek for a loop. When he asked Stiles about it, Stiles simply shrugged and told him that they had not yet been exclusive. Derek just shook his head, and something about that made Stiles laugh so hard he fell off his chair. Derek also finally asked Stiles about his magic. Stiles reminded him of the spark he told Derek he felt the first time he was kidnapped by Peter, and he explained that Deaton had showed him how to harness that. Apparently, Stiles had some repressed abilities that nobody noticed. Derek thought that, maybe, if someone had paid more attention to Stiles, they would have noticed sooner. He kept the thought to himself.

With the middle of March came the settling into of a routine. Every weekday, Derek woke up, drove Isaac to school, went out to work at the diner in the center of town that Stiles had helped him get a job as a cook at, came back for four, picked Isaac up from lacrosse practice, dragged the rest of the pack back to the house where they would practice until Stiles finished making dinner. After dinner, most of the pack would return to their respective homes. Stiles stayed behind to clean up and say goodnight, and he was usually the last to leave. Cora always kissed Derek goodnight, then ran into the woods for an hour before dragging herself back inside around 10:00, dirty and exhausted; she would then shower and go to bed. On the weekends, it was basically a free-for-all. Derek found that he really did not mind it all that much. This was around the same time Derek bought a new toaster for the kitchen, and Stiles hugged him so hard he almost knocked Derek over with the shock and the force of it.

Stiles made sure all of the seniors - this included himself, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Danny - applied to a handful of colleges. When Derek asked him where he was applying, he brushed him off and went to make dinner, _gulasz_ that night, leaving Derek to finish making the _kasza_ Stiles had showed him how to make at the beginning of April. Derek felt himself getting comfortable, against his better instincts; he wanted to stay on edge, keep an eye out for Peter, for enemies, but, after three months had passed since he returned home, and nothing evil presented itself since Stiles’ second attack, he found himself settling. While the spring grew around him, the ivy climbing the sides of his home and the plants securing their roots in the ground, Derek discovered that, somewhere along the way, he had done the same.

When he voiced this to Stiles one night while they were washing dishes, Stiles just laughed and told him that this was his _ojczyzna_ , and he should feel comfortable. Derek asked why Stiles would throw random Polish in sometimes, and Stiles just said his mother used to do that to make him feel secure while still keeping pieces of it to herself. Derek was then handed a wet plate, which he dried slowly, thinking about what Stiles had said until Stiles snatched the spare towel hanging from Derek’s back pocket and snapped him in the side of the head with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, I know what I'm doing.
> 
> As always, you can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. And, of course, comments are always appreciated.


	6. A Time To Uproot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets into college, and Scott and Derek voice some opinions on the topic.

Derek woke up on Saturday around eleven in the morning to his phone vibrating without stopping. He groaned and rolled over to tug it out of the charger and slide it on, reading the blurry messages with one eye open against the brightness of the screen. He sat up when he read the third message, running a hand through his hair. All the texts were from Isaac.

_wake up_

_derek pls wake up_

_scott is so mad_

_u have to come to stiles’_

_derek come on_

_stiles is leaving_

_cora’s already here, let’s go_

_i think scott’s gonna kill some1_

_maybe stiles_

_definitely stiles_

_derek ffs get here_

Derek sighed and dragged himself out of bed. He forwent a shower, sticking his head under a stream of warm water from the faucet. He rubbed deodorant under his arms, then tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, dragging himself from the house in bare feet and driving blearily to Stiles’ house. He had worked late last night, taking two extra shifts because Isaac’s birthday was coming up. He had come home to find Stiles asleep at the dining room table and a plate of food in the microwave for him. He took Stiles home, returned, ate the dinner, and collapsed in bed.

Pulling into Stiles’ driveway, he was hit in the face with a wall of negative pack emotions. He parked next to the sidewalk and jogged up to Stiles’ door, throwing it open without a knock - and without pausing to think of when he started just going into Stiles’ house - to find his entire pack gathered in Stiles’ living room. Stiles was seating on the sofa, looking down at his hands, and the Sheriff was reading a letter quietly to himself. Everyone, save Stiles, looked up when Derek came in.

“Thank God you’re here!” Scott shouted. Stiles’ head snapped up, and he turned to look at Derek so fast it was shocking that he did not suffer from whiplash. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him. God knows I can’t.”

“Scott, I got into a bunch of schools, I got into JFK, too-” Stiles began, but Scott whirled on him, and Stiles shut his mouth.

“You didn’t _tell_ anyone you got in, Stiles! You didn’t even tell us you _applied_!” Scott dropped into the armchair, his head falling into his hands. “I know you always wanted to go to Cornell-”

“Wait, Cornell?” Derek interrupted. “As in New York?”

“Yes,” Stiles confirmed, turning around to look up at Derek. “Why?”

“I went there,” Derek replied. He ignored the disbelieving looks on everyone else’s faces as he shut the front door. “For a little while, anyways. I was a history major.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” Stiles asked, one corner of his lips turning up as he sat up on the sofa.

“Seems like a lot of people are keeping secrets around here,” Scott growled. Stiles seemed to completely forget Derek’s existence in a split second, turning back to Scott.

“I promise, Scott, it’s not like that,” Stiles pleaded. Isaac’s eyes darted to Derek, then to Cora, and he jerked his head with a sharp movement. Cora nodded and ghosted to Derek’s side, tapping the inside of his left wrist three times. Derek nodded once to her, then to Isaac.

“Scott, why don’t we let Derek talk to Stiles for a little bit while you cool down?” Isaac suggested quietly, laying his hand on Scott’s shoulder gently. Scott straightened, his eyes locked with Stiles’ still.

“Yeah, sure,” Scott replied stiffly. He stood and shook off Isaac’s hand, breaking eye contact with Stiles before storming out the kitchen’s back door into the backyard. Isaac ran off after him, and Cora ushered the rest of the pack out after them. The Sheriff laid the letter down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“I’ll go talk to him,” the Sheriff said softly to his son. He kissed Stiles’ temple. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles replied, smiling up at him. “Talk some sense into him for me, will you?”

“Can do.” The Sheriff pulled back awkwardly from his son, patting his shoulder and nodding once to Derek. Derek stood completely still, maintaining eye contact with the Sheriff for the brief moment it took him to nod back. The Sheriff watched him for a split second longer, then left out the back door, pulling it shut behind him. Derek moved around the furniture to sit on the sofa next to Stiles.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked quietly, trying to keep his voice down low enough to give Stiles some semblance of privacy, despite the pack of werewolves listening outside. Stiles dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily.

“I always wanted to go to Cornell,” Stiles mumbled into his hands. “I still want to go, but things are… different now.”

“Then why did you apply?”  
“I wanted to know.”

Derek nodded. He looked down at his own hands. “I’m not- I’m not the best person to ask for advice. On stuff like this.”

Stiles snorted and raised his head. “Are you kidding me? You’re the only person who’s gotten this far into a conversation on the topic. You get a gold star for the day.”

“Stiles,” Derek began. “You have to understand… it feels like betrayal, to them. To us. You’re a member of the pack- a pretty big member of the pack. You’re vital. You’re up around Scott’s level, higher than anyone else besides Scott. And it feels like you’re going to leave us behind.”

“You left.” Stiles met Derek’s gaze evenly. “You left us. Why can’t I live the life I wanted to live before this happened to me?”

“By all means, Stiles, go,” Derek spat back. Stiles blinked and ran a trembling hand through his hair. “We don’t _need_ you.”

Stiles shook his head and laughed, once, an uneasy sound that held no humor. Derek watched as he put his head back in his hands, then let his arms slip away. He placed his head between his knees and took a shaky breath.

“Stiles-”

“Derek, don’t talk,” Stiles warned, his voice muffled. Derek slid closer and placed his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, focusing on Stiles’ breathing as he absorbed some of his pain. Stiles curled in on himself further before he exhaled slowly and raised his head.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Stiles breathed. “That’s new.”

“We can all transfer pain,” Derek replied, confused. Stiles shook his head.”

“That’s a different pain,” Stiles explained. He looked Derek over. “Do you feel it now? The panic?”

Derek looked down at his hands and clasped them together tightly, for lack of something better to do. “Yeah, I do.”

Stiles reached out and placed one of his hands over Derek’s. Derek looked up at him in time to watch as Stiles scrunched his eyes shut tightly. His lips thinned, and his face turned a little red, his cheekbones flushing with color. He inhaled severely and held his breath, and Derek felt the panic ebb away, a spreading sense of calm filling the space left behind. Stiles let out the breath in one gust a second later, then laughed breathlessly.

“Usually, that doesn’t happen, either.” Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck and straightened, cracking his spine as he did so. He grimaced. “Sorry ‘bout that, I’ve been testing diff-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Derek interrupted. Stiles turned to him, a grin threatening to crack his face in half, and Derek just raised his eyebrows at him. Stiles pressed his lips together, but the edges of them still turned up. Derek chose to ignore that. “Stiles, I’m-”

“You don’t have to say it,” Stiles assured him, effectively cutting him off. He raised his head until his nose was two inches away from Derek’s.

Derek’s eyes flickered over Stiles’ face before he just settled for eye contact. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

“I got into JFK University, and that’s only about a ten-minute drive from Beacon Hills,” Stiles said softly. He shifted, bringing their faces a bit closer together. Derek inhaled. “I wasn’t sure- I’m still not sure- but I don’t want…” Stiles’ eyes shut briefly; when they reopened, he trained them on the tip of Derek’s nose, rather than looking him in the eye.

When Stiles did not continue, Derek decided to urge him along. “You don’t want what, Stiles?”

Stiles’ eyes snapped up to meet Derek’s again. “I don’t want to leave my pack behind.”

“We’ll support whatever you decide to do, Stiles,” Derek promised. Stiles’ gaze moved from one of Derek’s eyes to the other, flicking back and forth several times before they fell down to Derek’s lips. Derek listened to the uncontrolled, irregular slamming of Stiles’ heart against his ribcage, trying to calm down his breathing.

“I want to stay,” Stiles admitted, his focus still on Derek’s mouth. “I want to do what I wanted to do- I mean, Cornell was- is- was- it’s a dream, is what it is. Was. God _damn_ it.”

“Take your time,” Derek said. He fought the urge to shut his eyes. Stiles’ attention came up to settle on Derek’s open eyes again.

“I don’t want to leave my pack,” Stiles whispered. He shifted closer to Derek before he seemed to snap out of the cloud that had formed around their heads, and he let his forehead press against Derek’s for a fleeting moment before he dropped it down to Derek’s shoulder. Derek awkwardly wrapped one arm around Stiles’ torso, which was apparently enough of an “okay” signal for Stiles to throw both of his arms around Derek and press his face into Derek’s neck.

“I don’t want to leave you guys, I don’t, I can always go to Cornell later, I don’t have to leave now-”

“Stiles, Stiles,” Derek murmured. Stiles calmed almost immediately, the flow of words cutting off mid-stream. “It’ll be okay. You don’t have to leave now, nobody’s making you. Just make sure this is what you want.”

Stiles chose not to answer, instead twisting his body so he could pull in closer to Derek and just sit there in silence while he held Derek and Derek attempted to hold him. After a beat, Stiles pulled back slightly to look Derek in the eye.

“Don’t tell anybody this. I’ll tell them in my own time, understood?” Stiles threatened. Derek raised his hands, palms out, and Stiles sat up straight.

“Understood,” Derek confirmed. Stiles _did_ grin now, and Derek leaned back against the sofa cushions. “You guys can come back in now.”

“Thank _God_ ,” Lydia exclaimed, throwing the back door open. Stiles stood up from the sofa, tugging the hem of his t-shirt down and fiddling with the buttons on his flannel. “I was going nuts out there, Aiden could sometimes only barely hear you and he still wouldn’t even tell me everything he heard-”

“I’m not moving,” Stiles announced, effectively interrupting Lydia. Scott threw himself at Stiles, pulling him into a bear hug that left Stiles breathless and laughing.

“Put him down, boy,” the Sheriff joked from the kitchen. “He’s still human.”

“Sorry, sir.” Scott dropped Stiles. “What- Why did- Did De-”

“I thought it’d be best if I put this off for the time being and just go to JFK for now,” Stiles explained. Derek met the significant look Stiles gave him with well-disguised understanding. Cora pat Stiles’ shoulder once before she threw a glare Derek’s way; Derek just shrugged. The Sheriff shivered, then looked up at the ceiling briefly before a slight frown crossed his lips.

“You alright, sir?” Isaac asked cautiously. Stiles’ head turned quickly to pay attention to his father, his eyes running over the Sheriff quickly to check for any visible signs of distress.

“No, just thought I heard something,” the Sheriff replied casually before clapping his hands together. “So, it’s not Stilinski Family Dinner Night, but maybe we can eat here tonight anyways, in honor of Stiles.” Stiles dropped his head sheepishly, grinning even as he rubbed at the back of his neck. The Sheriff came close enough to clap Stiles on the back and drag him into a one-armed hug. “What were you planning on making tonight? We can make it for you.”

“To be on the safe side, I’m not going to tell you and you’re just going to make pasta,” Stiles teased. While a couple chuckles came from various pack members, the Sheriff glanced up at the ceiling once more, briefly. He shook it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I'm fairly certain this is going to have 31 chapters. If that changes, you all will be the first to know, I assure you.
> 
> As always, you can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or @NLMello or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. And, of course, comments are always appreciated.


	7. A Time To Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've trained for this. They can handle this.

Derek’s breath caught in his throat as he woke up, lifting his head from the pillow on the air mattress to stare at the door. Cora raised her head at the same time, her eyes still shut. She rubbed blearily at her closed eyes.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered. Derek nodded, sliding off the air mattress and onto his feet. Stiles made a snuffling noise and stared up in Derek’s direction through his one half-opened eye.

“Wuz goin’ on?” Stiles asked into the pillow. Derek shook his head.

“Just heard something. I’m going to go check it out,” Derek said softly back. Stiles sat up regardless, staring into the dark, blinking several times until he could see Derek.

“I’ll go with you,” Stiles said, pulling the covers off himself and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. Derek was shaking his head before Stiles even finished, but Stiles just scowled at him and stood anyways.

“What’s going on?” Isaac asked from the end of the air mattress. Cora shushed him.

“Don’t wake up the Sheriff,” Cora scolded. Stiles suddenly straightened.

“Dad,” Stiles said softly before he took off, hopping over each person waking up on his floor. Scott rose to his feet almost immediately.

“What’s going on?” Scott demanded, grabbing Stiles’ upper arm. Stiles tugged himself free and bolted out his bedroom door. Scott’s head snapped around to look at Derek, and they only made eye contact for a second before they were sprinting out the door after him. The rest of the pack scrambled to their feet at the motion, dragging themselves out of their blankets to chase after Stiles. Derek found Stiles in his father’s room, standing in the very middle, staring at his father. The Sheriff was grinning down at Stiles; his eyes were violently black. At Derek’s and Scott’s entrance, the Sheriff - or whatever was masquerading as the Sheriff - turned his smile on them.

“Hello there!” he crowed, spreading his arms wide. Stiles’ shoulders hunched in. “I was just introducing myself to this lovely young man - Stiles, you said?” Stiles did not respond. “Stiles it is. Well, my name is Jerome, and I just popped in to-”

“Die,” Stiles interrupted, his voice low and gravelly. The hair on the back of Derek’s neck stood on end. Jerome laughed bitterly.

“Not quite what I was going to say, darling.” Jerome raised his hand to pinch Stiles’ cheek, but Stiles slapped his hand away. Jerome raised an eyebrow at him. “Feisty thing, aren’t ya?”

“Why are you here?” Scott asked loudly, stepping forward. Isaac moved with him, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. He tapped at the end of one of his long nails with a fingertip. Derek turned to find the rest of the pack behind them, all wolfed out; Allison was tugging a knife out of her bag at the back of the group. Lydia was trying to peer around Aiden.

“I’m here for you guys, of course,” Jerome informed him with a smile, looking over Stiles’ shoulder at Scott. “The famous Beacon Hills pack, the bastard offspring of the Hales.” Jerome dramatically clutched at his heart. “I’m such a big fan.”

“Get out,” Lydia spat. Aiden crouched down, baring his teeth. Jerome tsked at her.

“I’m not just here for shits and giggles, Miss Martin,” Jerome scolded, moving to step around Stiles’. Stiles’ hand shot out to stop him, and Jerome snatched his hand out of mid-air. He moved into Stiles’ personal space, their faces a breath apart. He tightened his grip, and Stiles’ face contorted.

“Get your hands off him!” Scott snapped. Jerome’s head snapped up.

“Listen to what I want, and I will.” Jerome’s knuckles whitened. Stiles whimpered and looked over his shoulder at Derek. Derek jerked his thumb down twice, and Stiles just shook his head. He winked at Derek, but it felt… off. Derek just nodded once.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, his voice carefully soft and pained.

“I want to know what makes this pack so special, for starters,” Jerome growled, leaning down into Stiles’ face. “And then, I want to tear it apart.”

“Like hell you will,” Ethan spat. Danny held a bat up in the air when Jerome turned his attention towards Ethan. Aiden immediately shifted towards his brother, but Stiles stepped closer to Jerome, his face flushed. Jerome frowned and looked down at him with confusion clear on his face.

“Guys, get out,” Stiles said under his breath. When nobody breathed, never mind moved, Stiles turned to look at Derek. “Get them out of here.”

Derek hesitated for a second before he grabbed Cora by the wrist with one hand and Scott by the wrist with the other. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

“We can’t just leave him in here!” Scott exclaimed, wrenching away from Derek.

“From what’s inside his daddy’s mind,” Jerome whispered, never breaking eye contact with Stiles, “he’s always alone.” Stiles’ face paled a bit. “Oh, does that bother you, me rummaging around in Daddy’s head? Do you want to know the secrets he keeps?”

“No,” Stiles bit out. Jerome grinned.

“Good,” Jerome snarled. “Did you know he blames you? You didn’t protect her. He showed up, and you’d let her die.”

“Stop. Stop it,” Stiles said. Jerome’s hand snapped out to wrap around Stiles’ neck. Everyone tensed, but Derek raised his free hand to stop them. Scott growled at Derek and moved forward.

“Drop him,” Scott growled. Jerome paid him no mind.

“He’s disgusted by you. You’ve changed, you’re something he doesn’t want. Why do you think he married so young? Did you think you were purposeful? Did you think it was chance that you’re an only child? Do you ever wonder why you’re so alone, Stiles?”  
“Get out!” Stiles shouted. Scott and Stiles locked eyes for the briefest of moments. When Stiles broke the contact, Scott immediately shoved Danny and Allison through the door. Derek followed his lead, ushering out the remainder of the pack and slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Scott immediately started pacing back and forth in the hallway. Isaac stopped him, grabbing him by the hand and attempting to leach his pain out. Scott let his head fall to hit the wall. Lydia rubbed his shoulder.

“Stiles knows what he’s doing. We practiced this,” Danny said quietly. Derek stood in the corner, too anxious to sit on the floor. “He’s been practicing this. Demon exorcising. We’ve worked on this, and he’s the only one-”

“That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it!” Scott interrupted. Isaac stroked Scott’s forearm, his head bowed. Scott winced in the next second, his body curling in on itself. Light shot out from the cracks where the door met the wall and where the door met the floor; Scott launched to his feet and threw the door open. Stiles was kneeling in the middle of the room, the Sheriff’s head in his lap, his head bent over his father’s. He lifted his head when Scott entered.

“Call an ambulance,” Stiles whispered, his voice cracking. Isaac immediately pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1, stepping back into the hallway to talk to the operator. Scott and Derek came in together to tug the Sheriff and Stiles apart. Stiles tore his arms out of Scott’s hold and shoved Derek away, pulling his father close.

“Stiles, what happened?” Lydia asked softly, pushing around Derek to kneel in front of Stiles. Stiles raised his head, and Lydia let their foreheads fall together. He exhaled slowly.

“Demon’s gone,” Stiles breathed before choking on a sob in his throat. Lydia ran her fingers through his hair rhythmically, humming under her breath. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and seemed, through sheer force of will, to be calming down. Lydia waved Derek and Scott off with her free hand before lacing the fingers of the hand with Stiles’ hand, pulling it from his father’s head. Stiles followed Lydia’s deep, even breathing. Ethan and Aiden pushed their way into the room, crowding around Stiles on either side. Derek was about to haul them out so that Stiles would not feel claustrophobic, but Stiles just laughed wetly. Ethan put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Danny looked over at Scott, then Cora, and the three of them packed in, as well. Isaac, still on the phone, sat down beside Cora. She began scratching her fingers through his messy hair.

Derek looked over at Allison, who seemed caught between standing in the doorway or sitting next to Lydia across from Stiles. She settled for sitting cross-legged by the Sheriff’s waist. Derek shifted, then left the room, going downstairs to open the front door and wait for the paramedics. When they arrived, lights flashing in his eyes and sirens blaring in his ears, he directed them upstairs. They returned with the Sheriff and Stiles in tow.

“Derek, come with me,” Stiles said in a low voice, pausing beside Derek. Derek looked over Stiles’ shoulder briefly before returning his attention to Stiles.

“Wouldn’t you rather Scott came? Or Lydia?”

“Scott’s the Alpha, he has to stay with his pack,” Stiles replied, his eyes nervously tracking the paramedics. “Just- Listen, Derek, you don’t have to-”

“No, I’ll come,” Derek interrupted. Stiles’ eyes darted up to Derek’s face. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered. Derek took Stiles by the elbow and led him over to the ambulance.

“You go with your dad, I’ll follow in the Jeep,” Derek said quietly. Stiles looked past Derek.

“Someone grab my keys from the dish by the door,” Stiles said, his voice at a normal level. Regardless, Ethan came jogging out in seconds, handing Stiles his keys. Stiles passed them to Derek.

“I’ll meet you there,” Derek assured him. Stiles nodded once and disappeared after the paramedics, lifting himself into the ambulance. Derek paused before moving to climb into the Jeep. As the ambulance pulled away, so did Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or @NLMello or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. And, of course, comments are always appreciated.


	8. A Time To Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has to take care of Stiles when Stiles is too busy to take care of himself.

By Derek’s count, Stiles had been sitting in the chair at his father’s bedside, his head bowed, his face red, and his hands securely latched around his father’s forearm, for eight hours without so much as opening his eyes. Derek could tell that he was awake; his heart was fluttering in the way Stiles’ heart always did when he was awake, nervous and quick, like a hummingbird. He sat in the chair outside the hospital room, half-awake and sideways, his head lolling backwards. He would snap forward every now and then, trying to stay alert and awake, but Stiles had been awake for about three days now. By extension, Derek had also been awake for about three days now.

He yawned, cracking his jaw, and Stiles exhaled.

Derek dragged himself out of the chair, deciding it was time for Stiles to take another food-and-water break. He let his hand fall onto Stiles’ shoulder, and the young man flinched, then relaxed upon recognizing Derek’s touch.

“What is it this time?” Stiles asked, releasing his father’s arm. Derek held up the bag he had been keeping under his seat for a half an hour.

“Isaac brought you take-out,” Derek answered. Stiles leaned back, taking the bag from Derek and digging through it. He pulled out a burger box, opened it up, and immediately disassembled the burger. He handed Derek the pickles off the burger automatically, and Derek took them without thinking about it, a routine they had settled into as of late. Stiles sighed and looked over at his father.

“This is my fault,” Stiles said softly. Derek remained silent. “It’s all my fault. I dragged him into this, I couldn’t save him, I _hurt_ him, god _damn_ it-”

“It’s my fault,” Derek interrupted. Stiles lifted his head, tilting it back until he could meet Derek’s eyes. His face was etched with confusion.

“What do you-”

“I dragged you _all_ into this,” Derek reminded him. “You’re human, Stiles, and I got you involved anyways.”

“I’d prefer to be involved,” Stiles argued. Derek raised his eyebrows.

“And what’s that?” Derek asked, dragging the stool from the corner of the room and taking a seat next to Stiles. Stiles bowed his head over his burger and spoke around a mouthful of food.

“Because I’d prefer to be useful,” Stiles answered. Derek motioned towards the Sheriff, still motionless in his bed.

“The same goes for him,” Derek said. Stiles put his burger down in the box and stared at his father’s sleeping face. “You’re his son and, believe it or not, you’re remarkably similar. Even if you don’t look alike, you act alike and you think alike.”

“I look like my mom,” Stiles said, his voice quiet. He did not lift his head. “I remember what she looked like. I still have pictures.” Stiles raised his head again. “I think she would’ve liked you, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Derek allowed Stiles to finish his food in peace. He passed him his water bottle from the pocket of his hoodie, accepting his thanks and letting him keep the bottle. When Stiles scrunched up the fry bag and set the empty bag of take-out on the floor, Derek leaned over to him and stopped him from grabbing his father’s arm again.

“You need to stop and rest. This is draining you,” Derek said firmly. Stiles scowled at him, yanking his hands back.

“I know what I’m doing,” Stiles snapped. Derek bit back the urge to sigh.

“What would your dad say if it were Scott, and he was the one sitting here instead of me?” Derek asked. Stiles looked down at his hands.

“He’d tell me to take it easy, and he’d probably drive me home himself and make me sleep before he let me come back.” Stiles frowned in Derek’s direction. “But you’re not my father.”

“No, I’m your friend, and I’m not going to let you tear yourself apart like this.” Derek pushed his hands back again. “He’s going to get better. He doesn’t need you to drive yourself halfway into a grave for it. He can do it on his own.”

“But if I can help-”

“You’re not helping-”

“But I _am_ -”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted sharply. “You don’t have to do this. I've tried to do this. I have. It doesn’t work.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair with a frustrated growl, throwing his hands in the air. “Fuck it. If you know so much, fine. We’ll just let my dad suffer.”

“He’s not suffering,” Derek corrected. “He’s _healing_. He’s human. Let him have that.”

Stiles looked over at Derek, as though he was seeing him in a new light. His breath caught in his throat, and Derek squeezed the hand that was still trapped in his.

“I’ll get the nurse to drag a bed in here for you,” Derek said, patting his hand and leaving the room before Stiles could say so much as a word of protest. He hunted down Melissa, who had clicked her tongue over the lines of his face and the shadows under his eyes before helping him to drag a cot into the Sheriff’s room. She kissed the crown of Stiles’ head, pulled him in close, held him for close to three minutes while Derek set up the cot.

“Scott’s coming over after work again tonight,” Melissa murmured into his hair. Stiles nodded, thanked her, and kissed her cheek before she left.

“I miss my mom,” Stiles said the moment Melissa left. Derek maneuvered him into the cot without saying a word, but Stiles grabbed his hand when Derek made to leave.

“Don’t,” Stiles blurted. “Don’t leave. Just- Watch my dad for me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek agreed. He shifted Stiles’ armchair until it was between the Sheriff’s bed and the cot Stiles was now occupying. Stiles reached out and took Derek’s hand. He pressed his face into his pillow and fell asleep in seconds. Derek held onto his hand tight, even when Stiles’ grip loosened with sleep, and watched over the Sheriff carefully, just as he promised he would do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm vastly apologetic that the length of time this took to get out is not proportional to the length. I'm working on that.
> 
> And, as always, you can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or @NLMello or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions. And, of course, comments are always appreciated.


	9. A Time To Tear Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' secret motives come out, as well as the Hales' secret kindnesses, and Lydia's general secret.

The Sheriff had been out of the hospital and at home for a week and a half when Stiles grabbed his graduation robes and told him he would have Melissa record the ceremony for him. John sat up straight in bed.

“What do you mean? Your graduation is today?” John demanded. Stiles barely opened his mouth before John interrupted. “Damn it, Stiles! Why didn’t you remind me?”

“I don’t want you dragging yourself out there and getting hurt!” Stiles exclaimed. John pointed a finger at him as he swung his legs over the side of his bed.

“I’m your father, not the other way around, you’ll recall.” John dragged himself out of the bed, swatting away Stiles’ hands and standing unsteadily. Stiles slid his cane under his father’s hand and ignored the scowl John threw him, even as he accepted it. John grabbed his phone.

“What’re you doing?” Stiles asked, leaning forward to peer at the screen. John smacked him away and dialed a number.

“Hello, Scott?” John said into the phone. Stiles hissed at him; John sat down on the bed again and held Stiles away with a palm to Stiles’ forehead. “Hi, yeah. Graduation’s today? Yeah, Stiles didn’t find it fit for me to know that… Yeah, I know.” John smirked. Stiles fought harder to reach him. “Listen- Yeah, if she wouldn’t mind? Great. Great, pass on my thanks… An hour? Great. Thanks, Scott. See you.” John hung up his phone and dropped it onto his bedside table. “Melissa’s picking me up. I’m going to watch you graduate, Stiles.”

“But Dad-”

“Stiles,” John interrupted, ignoring the frustrated expression on his son’s face. “I’m coming. I want to be there. Okay?”

Stiles hesitated, then hugged John tightly, the robes in his hands pressed tightly against his father’s back. “Okay. I’ll see you there.”

* * *

“So, who is Beacon Hills High losing?” John asked as Stiles took one of his arms to help him out to the Jeep.

“Me, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Danny,” Stiles answered, opening the passenger side door for his father. “If you’re too tired-”

“No, I meant what I said to Isaac, and I told him to tell everyone for a reason,” John said firmly. “All of them are already at our place all the time in the first place. It’d be weird if they weren’t there after graduation.”

“Understood.” Stiles slammed the door shut behind him and jogged around the car to the driver’s side. He let his dad fiddle with the radio while he drove, happy just to have him there beside him. He hummed along with some tune John had chosen, and only stuttered to a stop when he felt his father’s eyes boring holes in his head. He chanced a look to the side at him before focusing on the road again.

“Is there a particular reason you’re staring at me like that?” Stiles asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The Sheriff shook his head, as though clearing it.

“I miss your mother,” he said, quietly. Stiles shut his eyes, just for the briefest of moments. He let one of his hands off the steering wheel and reached for his father, who grabbed the hand like a lifeline.

“Me, too,” Stiles said. They did not say another word for the rest of the ride home, and both Stiles and his father were all but dragged out of the Jeep by Isaac before the car was even parked. John laughed good-naturedly, leaning on the young man on his way into the house, Stiles trailing behind him. Isaac tried desperately to shield the two of them from the pouring rain with his jacket. It only took moments for the remainder of the pack to show up, almost at once, like a tidal wave of people. Derek and Cora were last, sliding into the last available spot outside Stiles’ house a full two minutes behind Scott and Melissa.

“It’s more fun to see you here inside the house than sitting outside Stiles’ window like a guard dog,” Isaac teased, nudging Derek when the man entered the house. Derek glared at him, but could not bring himself to scold him. Even he had seen the time Isaac had taken to forgive him for abandoning them, an almost-unforgivable evil in Isaac’s book. Derek was trying desperately to get back on Isaac’s good side, and stay there. He wanted his pack to trust him again.

“There won’t be any of that,” the Sheriff warned, looking moments away from shaking his cane at Derek. Stiles laughed nervously and ushered Derek into the kitchen, giving everyone else excuses about needing supernatural help to carry out all the snacks he had made.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said to Derek in a low voice once they were alone. Derek’s brow furrowed.

“Do what?” Derek asked, unsure of what, exactly, he had done wrong this time. Stiles avoided his eyes.

“Guard me. I’m not helpless, Derek. Maybe I was, but- but, I mean, I’m not anymore.” Stiles picked up a bag roughly, tugging it open with a bit too much force. Derek opened the refrigerator and pulled out the bottles of soda he knew to be inside.

“You’re still human, Stiles, and I want to keep track of my pack while they’re off their guard,” Derek explained. “You have your father to worry about, so I’ll worry about you.”

Stiles gripped the counter with both his hands, his back to Derek, his knuckles turning white. “I’m- Derek, you know about me.”

“What do you mean?”

Without so much as a glance in Derek’s direction, a bowl lifted itself off the counter and hovered in mid-air before it flew itself into Derek’s free hand. Derek exhaled in a breath he had not known he was holding.

“That’s what I mean,” Stiles grit out, his head bowing over the fake granite of the countertop. “I can take care of myself. I did while you were gone, I do it now, and I’ll continue to do it after you’ve left again.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, keeping his voice low, painfully aware of the amount of werewolves with supernatural hearing in the living room. “I’m not going to leave again.”

Stiles looked at him once, briefly, before he picked up the bag of chips and took the bowl and sodas from Derek.

“Everybody leaves,” Stiles said. He left the kitchen, leaving Derek empty-handed and stunned. It took him a moment to collect himself, but, once he did, he followed after him back to the graduation party. Those who could hear their short conversation averted their eyes, pretending they had heard nothing of the sort as they crowded themselves into Stiles’ living room. Danny all but cheered when the chips came into view, and nobody mentioned that Stiles and Derek had left for snacks for everybody.

“So, Danny and I are going to JFK, Scott’s going to Beacon Hills Community, Danny’s going to Carrington,” Stiles said some time later, laughing at the good-natured glare Scott shot him. Stiles turned to Lydia, raising his red Solo cup to her. “Out with it, you’ve kept your secret long enough. Where did you decide to go?”

Lydia’s face turned a light red, and she set her own plastic cup down on Stiles’ low coffee table. Without meeting anyone’s eyes in particular, she said, softly, “Harvard.”

The chips in Isaac’s hand fell to the ground. You could hear a pin drop in the silence that suddenly filled the room. Stiles slammed his cup down and was on his feet in seconds.

“You’re leaving,” Stiles said, blackly. Lydia stood, as well.

“I’ve always wanted to, and, Stiles-”

“You’re leaving the pack,” Stiles interrupted. Lydia’s red face blanched, leaving her lily-white. “You’re leaving us.”

“It’s not my pack, Stiles,” Lydia argued. Stiles’ face suddenly became stormy. “You’re my friends- No, wait. You’re my family, and nothing will ever change that. But I have to do this, for me, and I’m going to do it while I can.”

Stiles stared at Lydia for an indescribable beat of time before he stormed out of the room. Isaac scurried to his feet and hurried after him, skidding on the hardwood floors. Lydia looked down at her shoes.

“Congrats,” Ethan said, even his softest tone loud in his booming voice. Lydia covered her face with her hands.

* * *

“Stiles,” a small voice said outside the door. Stiles looked up from his knees from where he had pressed himself into the corner of the closet, trying desperately to calm himself down. Isaac shot to his feet, his hands falling away from Stiles. Lydia opened the door without waiting for a response, and she fell to her knees in front of him, the skin of her legs pressing against his shoes as she took his face in her hands.

“I’m never going to leave you,” Lydia promised, her voice urgent. Stiles stared into her face, willing himself to breathe normally. “I might not be here, but I’ll never leave you, do you understand?”

“Lydia,” Stiles gasped, reaching out, and Lydia took one of her hands off of his face to grasp that searching hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Lydia assured him. “I should’ve told you earlier, let you deal with it differently. That wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Isaac agreed. Lydia glared up at him, but Isaac just glared back, his face heated. Lydia returned her attention to Stiles.

“You’re still my pack,” Stiles said, his breathing still heavy around his words. Lydia leaned in and kissed him, briefly. Stiles sighed against her lips, into her mouth, and his shoulders relax from their tense set, just a little bit. She pulled back and let their foreheads fall together.

“You’ll get used to this,” Lydia said. Stiles shook his head, moving hers with him. “People leaving. You will.”

“I won’t, and you can’t make me,” he joked weakly, and Lydia forced herself to smile for him.

“Nobody can make you do anything, Stiles.” Lydia helped him to his feet, and the two of them, their hands tangled tightly together, returned to the living room. Isaac had a loose grip on Stiles’ “nice” shirt, which was really just a button-down that was loose because he had borrowed it from Danny. Derek visibly relaxed when Stiles re-entered the room.

“Does anyone else have any news they might want to share before we continue?” Melissa asked, her arms folded across her chest.

“I’m moving in with Derek and Cora over at the Hale house,” Isaac spoke up. Ethan and Aiden both raised their hands sheepishly and simultaneously.

“Cora and Derek invited us to stay there instead of at that shitty motel,” Ethan explained. Aiden shrugged.

“There’s no reason not to take them up on it,” Aiden added. “Scott said they’re pack again.”

Scott turned a faint shade of red and focused on picking at a thread hanging off his cuff. “Yeah, well, I just-”

“Thank you,” Cora said, so urgently that Scott looked up at her. He turned a slightly deeper shade of red.

“You’re welcome,” Scott mumbled. The Sheriff stood suddenly, waving off the myriad of hands that reached out to help him.

“There’s pigs in a blanket in the oven, I’m sure of it,” John said, too loudly, and he left to get them, returning moments later with the promised pigs in blankets, which disappeared in seconds.


	10. A Time To Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack gets a move on.

Stiles woke up like he usually does after a night where he slept with the aid of ZzzQuil; slowly, like he was coming back from the dead. He blinked tiredly at the sunlight, and he was hit suddenly with the feeling that it was _summer_ , that he did not truly have to get out of bed yet, or even wake up at all, if he so chose.

Unfortunately, the day, _apparently_ , waits for no man. Especially when that man is Derek Hale, who scared the living _hell_ out of Stiles just by looking at him from his desk chair when Stiles happened to look over. Stiles jumped and promptly banged his head against his headboard; he grabbed the back of his head and scowled at Derek.

“What do you want, Derek?” Stiles asked, his voice coming out more scratchy, less threatening than he was planning. He cleared his throat.

“I need your help today,” Derek explained. He kicked his feet up on Stiles’ desk, and Stiles scowled at him, again. Derek ignored him, again. “I figured I’d just come in and wait for you.”

“Charming.” Stiles sat up fully, rubbing at his eyes with his closed fists. “What do you need my help with? Need something levitated up into a high spot?”

Derek paused. “No.”

“You hesitated.”

“You were close.”

Stiles dropped his hands into his sheet-covered lap and squinted at Derek. “What is it?” Derek was silent. Stiles groaned when realization sunk in. “You want me to help you move them in, don’t you?”

“Think of it as a team-building exercise,” Derek offered. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“I think we’ve had enough of those without me wasting value summer days helping them move all their shit into Malfoy Manor.” Stiles raised his arms high above his head, stretching as many muscles at once as he could and relishing the feeling of his joints popping. He belatedly noticed that he had forgone his shirt in the heat last night, but Derek did not seem bothered, so he promptly forgot about it.

“It’s a pack thing,” Derek said. Stiles groaned again, more loudly this time.

“You can’t just say, ‘It’s a pack thing,’ whenever you want me to do something,” Stiles sighed. Derek shrugged.

“I can, I do, and I will continue to do so, because it works.” Derek leaned back to look at the books stacked up on the shelf next to the desk. “It really is a pack thing, though. The whole, you know. Smell thing. And the closeness of the whole pack. Being on the same property, and living in the same house, it all does wonders for a pack.” Derek looked up from his examinations of the books’ spines. “We love that kind of thing.”

Stiles stared back at him for a moment before his eyes narrowed. “Who’s moving in?”

“You know who’s moving in.”

“Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden.”

“Yup.”

“There’s more.”

Derek was suspiciously silent. Stiles’ head fell forwards into his hands.

“Who else, Derek?”

“Since Isaac is, Scott got interested… and, I mean, Allison talked to me and said thanks, but no, thanks. I didn’t exactly _offer_ , I’m assuming Scott did, but I’m alright with her not being there. But, Scott is now, too. And Danny.”

“Scott. And Danny.” Stiles flopped backwards onto his mattress. “What did Scott’s mom say?”

“She understands,” Derek answered, and Stiles stared him down briefly before deciding he was being genuine. He stared him down another minute longer, and Derek only just stared back.

“It’s a pack thing,” Stiles repeated. Derek nodded.

“Yup,” Derek agreed, popping the ‘p’ in the exaggerated way Stiles himself often did. Stiles covered his face with his hands. For all Stiles was moving around, Derek had moved remarkably little. Maybe it was a werewolf thing. Or just a not-Stiles thing.

The thing was, Stiles liked living with his dad. He had done it for so long - lived with just his dad, in this very house - that anything else seemed inherently odd. But, the more Stiles thought about it… The better living with the pack seemed. His father would always be his family, and, as John was fond of jokingly reminding his son, his _first_ and _primary_ pack, but the _pack_ was different. And, though Stiles would never admit it, he knew it was a pack thing, even without Derek saying it. He could feel it.

“I’m the last holdout, aren’t I?” Stiles asked, already knowing the answer. Derek nodded when Stiles removed his hands from his face and looked over. “I’m not sharing a room with anybody.”

“You won’t have to,” Derek assured him, and Stiles was sure he imagined the flicker of some weird emotion - _disappointment?_ \- that flickered across Derek’s face. Stiles finally stood from his bed, the sheet falling. He stretched again, trying to ignore the feeling of Derek’s eyes on him, even when his face heated up.

“Alright, let’s go see what’s going on,” Stiles finally agreed. Derek smiled, very, very briefly, and was on his feet in a blink.

“Get showered and dressed,” Derek instructed, ignoring the tongue Stiles stuck out at him. “I’ll wait downstairs, then we can go over there. We’ve got to accommodate everybody. The rooms are all done and everything, but we’ve got to- There’s just a lot of planning.”

“What’s all this ‘we’ you’re going on about?” Stiles asked, waving his hands in circles through the air. Derek stopped moving halfway to the bedroom door, and Stiles felt the air get a little more tense and electric. He looked up at Derek.

“I thought-”

“You thought right,” Stiles interrupted, before Derek could blather on about nothing and just wreck whatever they had been building there. “I want to help. I want to be involved.”

“Den mother.”

“Wannabe Alpha.”

“Ouch,” Derek growled playfully, pretending to be wounded. Stiles cracked a smile, and Derek almost laughed before he disappeared out the door. Stiles tripped through getting showered and dressed, throwing on the first clothes he grabbed that passed the sniff test. He all but fell down the stairs, and was surprised to find Derek in the kitchen with his father, rather than - waiting in the tree outside, maybe, like the proper creeper he truly was.

“He hadn’t had anything to eat,” John offered by way of an explanation when Stiles skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. Derek tore a piece of toast in half with his teeth and swallowed the half in his mouth all at once. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. John held up the toast plate. “I would’ve had meat and normal breakfast things for him, but _someone_ -”

“-someone with a vested interest in your well-being and longevity-”

“-insists on only healthy foods being in this house,” John continued, as though Stiles had not even spoken. Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed three pieces of toast in one hand, shoving one of them in his mouth and grabbed Derek’s sleeve with his other hand.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Derek said, somewhat awkwardly. John nodded and waved goodbye as Stiles and Derek left, the front door slamming shut behind them.

“You could’ve said no,” Stiles said as they climbed into the Jeep. Derek hopped into the passenger seat and looked to Stiles for clarification as he put his seatbelt on. “To my dad. When he offered. If you were, I don’t know, uncomfortable, or something.”

“I didn’t mind,” Derek said softly, and Stiles dropped it, throwing the Jeep into action and taking off down the street. They drove in silence for a time until Stiles happened to glance over.

“What’s the date?” Stiles asked, and Derek paused.

“June 22nd,” Derek answered, remembering. Stiles nodded, humming a little to himself as they pulled up to the Hale house. “Why?”

“Just gotta keep track in June,” Stiles said, half-forgetting what they were talking about as he parked the Jeep and Scott came barreling out the front door of the house like his ass was on fire.

“Why didn’t you tell your dad?” Derek asked, and Stiles took a moment to connect Derek’s question with what they had been discussing earlier in the morning.

“Because I need a _little_ more time to really make that big of a decision, thanks,” Stiles said, jumping out of the Jeep. “And because I need to think of how to tell him.”

“How to tell your dad what?” Scott questioned, skidding to a halt in front of Stiles. Stiles smacked his best friend on the arm and jogged into the house. He could hear Scott’s and Derek’s footsteps behind him.

“That I’m probably moving in here,” Stiles said, and Scott suddenly swept him up off his feet, spinning him around right there in the entryway to the house. “Hey, I said _probably_ , man, don’t get all excited- I still have to decide, and, even then, we’ve still got to do the actual _moving_ -”

“Pack house,” Scott’s quiet voice said, somewhere near Stiles’ ear. Stiles stopped talking and struggling, and Scott put him down. “It’ll be _so good_ , Stiles, I promise. Besides, you would’ve moved out, anyways, you’re going to college and-”

“-it’s not _that_ far away, I would’ve commuted, it’s twenty minutes on a bad day-”

“- _Stiles_ ,” Scott breathed happily, and how could Stiles say no to that? He sighed and put his arms around Scott, patting his best friend on the back for a moment before they released each other. “Everyone’s already here.”

“And by ‘everyone,’ you mean…?”

“Everyone who lives here now,” Derek answered for Scott, and did he not just look like he might burst with pride, “plus Allison and Lydia. They wanted to help.”

“It’s too early for this,” Stiles grumbled. Scott furrowed his brow and looked down at his watch.

“It’s noon,” Scott informed him. Stiles waved a hand at him.

“Details.” Stiles yawned. “Anyways, it’s _summer_. What the _hell_ , guys?”

“Grab a box and get moving,” Lydia instructed them, appearing around the corner that joined the entry hall to the living room. She pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek and bounced down the front steps out to her car. Stiles groaned and dragged himself back outside to help.

The day passed in much the same way, with all of them helping to move the new members of the Hale household into the house. Stiles, once he realized the people with the supernatural strength could carry way more than him in one trip, mostly just fretted and helped people organize. He and Derek - during Derek’s brief breaks - assigned rooms and shoved people into their respective corners of the house.

Stiles had just finished making dinner when Cora and Scott collapsed on the sofa in the living room. He whistled and put the last plate of chicken on the table.

“Soup’s on!” Stiles called, but it was unnecessary; he could hardly see the table through the group of people around it. He grabbed a chair from between Aiden and Danny and dragged it backwards, falling down into it tiredly and rubbing at his face. Derek appeared beside him, seemingly out of nowhere, and Stiles jumped.

“You’re not allowed to Apparate inside Hogwarts, you know,” Stiles scolded. He ran his hands down his face and leaned back to look up at Derek. He must have been the only one to actually take one of the plates that Stiles had helped him to pick out a couple of weeks ago. He had it in his hand now, and it was full of chicken, fries, and mashed potatoes. He lowered it down to offer some to Stiles; Stiles took a handful of fries and shoved some of them in his mouth at once.

“I thought this was Malfoy Manor,” Derek countered, using a plastic spoon to scoop mashed potatoes into his mouth. Stiles shrugged.

“It’s too homey to be Malfoy Manor,” Stiles explained. He stretched out and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I hereby correct myself.”

“Correction accepted.” Derek continued to eat in silence. He lowered the plate again wordlessly when Stiles ran out of fries, and Stiles took a piece of chicken this time instead. He pulled it apart with his long fingers, popping a piece in his mouth every now and then. He and Derek watched the crowd of people shoved into the chairs at the kitchen table, all of them shoving at each other, talking over one another, grabbing food off of everyone else’s plates.

“This is nice,” Stiles commented. Derek hummed in assent and ate another spoonful of mashed potatoes.


	11. A Time To Weep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 29th comes, just like it does every year.

Stiles never could sleep the night of the 28th into the morning of the 29th. Though June in general was a struggle for him, that one night was always the worst. This was the first night he did not have his father close by, either. Of course, if he got in his Jeep and drove ten minutes, he would see his father, but it was three in the morning and, if his dad had fallen asleep, Stiles did not want to wake him up.

Stiles pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and let out a growl of frustration before he just yanked the covers off and stood. His room in the Hale house still felt unfamiliar after so long in his dad’s house, and it was with ginger steps that he crossed the room to dress in the moonlight. In the end, he was wearing puppies-in-bow-ties pajama pants that possibly belonged to Isaac (laundry day had been the previous day, and nobody got out of it unscathed and with all the correct clothing), a shirt that said _√-1 2(^3) Σ π_ , and rain boots, because his sneakers were drying downstairs, since they got stuck in the mud during training yesterday (the catalyst for laundry day).

He ran his fingers through his hair before he decided there was really no reason to care. He pulled his phone out of the charger, put it on silent, shoved it in the pocket of his pajama pants, and crept out of his room. He had ended up with the last room, which suited him just fine, because it was the one closest to the top of the stairs. He stepped carefully down the stairs, still not certain which ones creaked where. His caution did not matter, though, because Scott still appeared at his side the second his hand was on the door handle. Scott, bless him, was still half-asleep, and his hair was in his eyes, but he still grabbed Stiles’ wrist and tried to focus on him.

“You alright?” Scott asked, his words mushing in his mouth. Stiles smiled, just a little bit.

“Yeah, Scott,” Stiles assured him. “I’m alright.”

Scott seemed to think for a moment before realization dawned on his tired face. “Is it the 29th?” When Stiles nodded, Scott surged forward and wrapped him in a hug. Stiles hugged him back fiercely, burying his face in his friend’s neck.

“I’m sorry, dude,” Scott mumbled into Stiles’ skin. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah,” Stiles answered, pulling back. Scott still held onto his shoulders, though out of sympathy or an inability to stand, Stiles was not too sure. “I’m going back with Dad later anyways. You can come with then.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and shut his eyes briefly. “I just can’t sleep.”

“I get it,” Scott promised. He smiled and squeezed Stiles’ shoulders before letting him go. “Be careful driving, it’s dark out. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“See you,” Stiles said, watching to make sure Scott got back up to his room before he fished his keys out of the dish he had set up on the table in the entryway and left the house. He started up the Jeep and drove slowly away from the house, hoping against hope he would not wake up anybody else.

The drive to the cemetery, though familiar, always seemed longer than it actually was. Stiles parked outside the cemetery’s closed gates, since the sign said it was closed from sundown to sunrise (a rule that had never stopped him), and hopped over the fence. He shoved his hands in his pajama pants pockets and walked across the dewy grass until he got to the pebbled path. He walked along the path in silence, dragging his feet now and then, kicking at tiny rocks and dirt. The walk, unlike the drive, was always too short, and he had arrived at his mother’s grave before he knew it.

Stiles sat cross-legged in front of the gravestone, running his fingers over his mother’s name carved into the granite. The date - June 29th, 2004 - seemed to scream at him. He sighed, and bit down hard on his lower lip when the sigh trembled. A twig cracked behind him, and he looked over his shoulder instinctively. He shut his eyes and turned back to the grave.

“You can come out,” Stiles called, breaking the silence and the stillness. Nature unfroze around him, as though allowed to move now, and a light breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. He did not hear the footsteps, but he knew when Derek was standing next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Derek apologized, quietly, but Stiles shook his head.

“You didn’t know,” Stiles said. “And, it’s okay anyways. I don’t… I was wrong, I’d rather not be alone.”

“You’re not,” Derek assured him. He sat down next to Stiles, his knees bent and pulled up to his chest. He looked at the gravestone. “Ten years.”

“Feels like forever,” Stiles said around a lump in his throat. “And like no time at all. I still forget sometimes.”

“I know,” Derek said, and of _course_ he knows. Derek understands on the most basic level. “I get it.”

“I know,” Stiles echoed. He turned to look at Derek after a moment. “Why’d you follow me?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Derek explained, “and I heard you leave. I was… I don’t know. Curious, I guess. A little worried.”

“That’s alright,” Stiles said. He watched Derek’s profile for a moment longer before looking at the gravestone. It was silent again, and the breeze vanished. Derek rubbed at the side of his head, and Stiles noticed he was in his pajamas, something he had never seen before. He dropped his head and pushed a couple of tears off his face before speaking again. “She would’ve liked you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She always said I should make more friends besides Scott.” Stiles picked at the fuzzy lint on the pajama pants. “She would’ve liked all of you. She would’ve understood, too. The pack thing. Would’ve loved that I found myself my own fa- friends. A whole bunch of them.”

Derek allowed him his slip. “How’d she die?”

“Huntington’s,” Stiles answered. “Or, I guess, complications from Huntington’s. It was awful.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. Stiles shook his head and focused on the lint. “What was she like?”

“She was the best,” Stiles said, smiling a little. He looked up at the stone, his mother’s name staring back at him. _Claudia Daniela Stilinski_ , it read in grey letters; below that, _Beloved wife and mother_ , and below _that_ , a quote: _“In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”_ At the very bottom of the stone, the date of her birth - _February 17th, 1969_ \- and the date of her death - _June 29th, 2004_ \- were carved. “She was so pretty, and she had the nicest voice. She made the best pancakes. She loved me and my dad.” Stiles paused, then shook his head, looking down. When he spoke again, his voice broke. “She was the best, Derek.”

Derek scooted closer to Stiles until their sides were pressed together, and he put his arms around the young man, pulling him against his chest. Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck and clung to him, sobbing loudly in the stillness of the cemetery, and Derek remained silent, holding him there in the wet grass at three in the morning on June 29th. The gravestone stayed quiet, as well.


	12. A Time To Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the fourth of July, and Stiles insists that they have a cookout, because that's what families do.

“Why do we have to do this, Stiles?” Scott asked, as he and Isaac carried plates of half-sandwiches out to the picnic table in the backyard. The Sheriff leaned back in his lawn chair, watching the cookout come together around him. Stiles did not turn away from where he was observing Derek grilling the burgers.

“Because we’re a family,” Stiles answered, not for the first time. “Families have cookouts on the fourth of July. That’s what they do.”

“Is it?” Derek asked. Stiles looked up at him; Derek had a straight face for a beat longer before he smiled, and Stiles shoved at him.

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles muttered at Derek, even though he was grinning. He turned away from Derek, leaning against the small table set up next to the grill. “Would you stop complaining? This is _fun_. And you get _food_. What else could you really want?”

A chorus of sarcastic answers all came to Stiles at once, and he waved them away, laughing. Stiles left Derek to watch the burgers while he laid out the baseball diamond, putting out small pentagons of plastic in the backyard. Aiden appeared out of the woods at the same time his brother pulled up on his motorcycle, and Lydia snatched a bowl of potato salad out of the way just in time. Aiden tackled Ethan into one of the tables, knocking it over and sending three bags of chips flying. Melissa raised an eyebrow at them.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Scott announced, launching himself over the flipped table to pull the twins apart. “Derek, tell me the burgers are done.”  
“The burgers are done,” Derek said, sliding the burger patties onto buns. “Put your own shit on them, I don’t know what anyone likes.”

“Wait, I bet I can guess!” Stiles called, abandoning the setup of the diamond to take the platter of burgers away from Derek. He set them on the table with the condiments and toppings. Danny and Ethan pushed the table back onto its legs and dropped the bags of chips onto the table. Lydia set the bowl of potato salad back down. Stiles started, seemingly randomly, choosing toppings and sticking them on burgers. He frowned.

“Here’s the mayonnaise,” Derek said, quietly. Stiles looked up and took the bottle that was passed to him.

“What the hell?” Cora peered over Stiles’ shoulder. “Who eats mayonnaise on a hamburger?”

“You’re about to find out,” Stiles teased. He picked up the ketchup and added it to a few of the burgers before he set the bottle down and pushed the condiments aside. He flipped up all the top buns and picked up one of the burgers. “Chris?”

Chris Argent stepped forward and took the burger. He frowned and peeked under the bun, then smiled, just a little bit. “Good work.”

“Thanks.” Stiles lifted two more. “Ethan,” and he extended his left hand, “and Aiden,” and he extended his right. The brothers took the burgers and thanked him. Stiles slid the plate forward and pointed at each burger, calling out a name for each one. “Allison, Scott, Isaac, Cora. This one’s Danny. This one’s…” Stiles lifted the bun. “This one’s Lydia’s. This is Dad’s, and this is Mrs. McCall’s.” Stiles motioned to one of the two burgers still left on the plate. “That one’s yours, Derek.”

Derek took the burger off the plate. Lydia leaned across the table, and Stiles tilted forward obligingly, letting her kiss his cheek.

“Got ‘em all right, as usual,” Lydia assured him. Stiles grinned and picked up his own burger, taking a huge bite of it.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, around his mouthful of food. “It’s a hobby.”

“I’m sure it is,” Melissa laughed. Stiles moved away from the table to sit in the grass next to Scott. Scott immediately shoved him over, and the two of them shoved the rest of their burgers in their mouths before they started wrestling each other.

“I thought we were going to play baseball!” Isaac exclaimed excitedly, tearing his burger in half and devouring one of the halves.

“Can we eat first?” the Sheriff asked. Isaac pointedly pushed the other half into his mouth and held up his empty hands.

“Derek and Scott, team captains!” Stiles called. Derek looked up from his burger, alarmed.

“What?” Derek looked over his shoulder at Cora. “What’d he say?”

“You’re a team captain, and you’re screwed if you don’t pick me first,” Cora informed him helpfully. “Now, finish your burger so we can get started.”

“Leave it to a bunch of eighteen-year-olds to be done eating in thirty seconds,” the Sheriff grumbled to Melissa, who laughed, hiding her smile behind her burger.

“You say that like you’re not going to be the home base umpire,” Stiles said, clapping his father’s shoulder as he passed on his way to Derek. He pushed Derek into standing up, grabbed at his bare forearm and pulling at him. He dropped his arm as soon as Derek was on his feet. His palms felt as though they were on fire, or at least shocked; every place where his skin touched Derek’s felt like it had been electrocuted. Derek frowned down at their hands, but Isaac snapped them out of their brief stupor by grabbing Derek’s wrist and dragging him over to the makeshift baseball diamond.

“Pick your teams!” Stiles exclaimed, clapping his hands together as he followed to the diamond. “Derek gets to pick first, because Scott pushed me into the dirt.”

“You’re both children,” the Sheriff called. Stiles shrugged and went to stand next to Cora, who was promptly picked by Derek for his team.

“I pick Isaac,” Scott said, after a moment of deliberation. At Stiles’ wounded glare, Scott mouthed an apology. “I’ll pick you next.”

“I pick Stiles,” Derek said, surprising Scott, Stiles, and everyone else standing there. Stiles got over the surprise first, clearing his throat and jogging forward to stand on Derek’s right.

“Prepare to get your asses handed to you!” Stiles shouted at Scott, who picked Allison next. Isaac rolled his eyes, even as the teams got divvied up completely - Derek, Cora, Stiles, Aiden, and Danny on one team, and Scott, Isaac, Allison, Ethan, and Lydia on the other.

Stiles could not help but notice that, every time he was up to bat, Derek seemed to forget to run until he was reminded by someone on their team. Even through Ethan and Aiden’s shouting at each other, Danny and Ethan’s getting distracted at second base, Isaac and Scott tackling each other in the outfield, and the Sheriff’s argument with Chris over whether or not Cora was safe, Derek kept getting distracted. Once the game was over - Derek’s team having won, because, apparently, Derek was a baseball star whether or not he was paying attention - Stiles deemed it sufficiently dark enough to break out their fireworks.

As he lugged the dubiously-obtained box of fireworks out of the back of his Jeep, Derek appeared at his side, offering a hand. Stiles let him take the box, conceding to his supernatural strength, and followed him back to the backyard, where they set about setting them up.

“Have you ever seen fireworks before?” Stiles asked, out of the blue. Derek shook his head, and Stiles looked up at the night sky. He squinted, as though struggling to see a particular star. “You’re in for a treat.”

“How do you even get fireworks?” Derek asked. “Your father’s the sheriff.”

“You’d be surprised,” Stiles said, laughing, as he stuck another rocket in the ground. “Grab the sparklers and pass them out, will you?”

“Sure,” Derek agreed, pulling the package of sparklers out of the box and tossing them to Scott. “Pass those out.”

“You can’t order me around!” Scott called back. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, and Scott just stuck his tongue out. Stiles rolled his eyes, and Isaac picked up the package.

“You’re all children, my dad was right,” Stiles sighed. Derek sat down in the grass next to Stiles. “You can’t sit there, the fireworks are here.”

“I want to sit here.”

“Move.”

“Make me,” Derek growled, his eyes flashing. Stiles paused, kneeling in the dirt, a rocket forgotten in his hands. His eyes flickered down to Derek’s mouth, and Derek stood in a flash of movement. “I’ll move.”

“Good,” Stiles said, hoarsely. He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, good. Go sit. I’ll be right over.”

Derek moved away from the cluster of fireworks to sit at the edges of his pack, ignoring Cora when she elbowed him in the ribs and jerked her head meaningfully in Stiles’ direction. Fortunately for her, she scrambled off after Stiles finished lighting all the fireworks and came to fall onto the ground at Derek’s side. He lay down on his back, his arms folded behind his head as the first of the fireworks shot into the sky.

“Good choices,” Derek complimented, about halfway through. Stiles yawned and shuffled closer, the line of his left side pressing against Derek’s right.

“Thanks,” Stiles murmured. He yawned again, his head falling against Derek’s arm. Derek moved automatically, stretching his arm out so Stiles could move closer. They both froze, just for a moment, before Stiles crept in. “The blue ones are my favorite.”

“Me, too,” Derek said, barely processing any of the words being said. “Me, too, Stiles.”

“Shut up,” Danny hissed. “We’re trying to _enjoy_ the _fireworks_.”

Stiles scrambled over Derek to smack at Danny’s shoulder. Derek grabbed at Stiles’ hips to stop him from placing any elbows and/or knees in Derek’s stomach, and Stiles’ head dropped down to look at Derek, Danny long forgotten. Stiles’ tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Derek’s grip tightened on his hips.

“Oh, was that the last one?” Scott asked. Stiles pushed off of Derek quickly, snapped out of his daze, leaving Derek lying in the dirt and grass on his own. Derek sighed, even as Cora moved over to climb on top of him and make innuendos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all better start preparing for the storm. It's coming soon.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions.


	13. A Time To Mourn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia accidentally wakes Stiles up, and subsequently ruins her entire plan in the process.

On August 2nd, Stiles woke up on Derek’s living room floor to Lydia’s face. Her expression shifted from caution to shock when she noticed Stiles blinking up at her.

“...I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lydia whispered after a moment. Stiles lifted his head from the pillow he had dragged down off the sofa for their movie night.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, and he followed her gaze when it darted down to her hands. He sat up fully and pulled the folded piece of paper out of her hand. He held it up next to his head. “Were you leaving me a note?”

Lydia jerked forwards in an attempt to snatch the note from his hand, but he snapped his hand backwards, holding it out of her reach. Lydia slid back out of his lap and sat back on her haunches as Stiles unfolded the note and read it through once, quickly. He looked up at Lydia when he finished, and she opened her mouth, but he held up one hand and looked back down to the paper again. He reread the note, then set it down in his lap. He dropped his head into his hands.

“What the hell, Lydia,” Stiles murmured softly. He tugged at his hair and blew out a hard breath. He looked up at Lydia. “What the hell?”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, her tone pleading, but Stiles just shook his head and bolted to his feet. Lydia stood, as well, trying to avoid stepping on Scott. Isaac blinked his eyes open and squinted at them.

“Wuz goin’ on?” Isaac asked blearily. Stiles glanced down at him.

“Go back to sleep, Isaac,” Stiles said, voice hard. Isaac frowned and sat up, the throw blanket that had been tossed over him in the night pooling around his waist. He leaned over and shook Scott awake. Stiles visibly fought back the urge to shout.

“‘Sup?” Scott asked, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with his fists. Stiles threw his hands up in the air and turned, pacing across the living room and the sleeping bodies littered on the floor. He pounded a fist against the wall, startling the rest of the pack awake. Derek jerked up on the sofa, his eyes flashing red for a moment.

“Stiles, what the hell?” Derek growled. Stiles turned sharply on his heel, pointing at Derek.

“Now is _not_ the time, Derek Hale,” Stiles snapped. Derek frowned deeply, his brow furrowing. Stiles turned back to Lydia, pointing at her instead of Derek. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Whoah,” Scott exclaimed, lurching to his feet. He held his hands up peaceably. “What’s going on?”

“Lydia was just going to _leave_ without saying goodbye to my face,” Stiles explained angrily. When everyone’s tired, surprised eyes turned to Lydia, Stiles stalked across the living room again, bending to pick up the note. He held it, crumpled, in his fist. “We’ve been friends for _how long_ , and you were going to leave me a _note_ , Lydia?”

“I thought it would be easier,” Lydia answered softly. Stiles held the scrunched-up paper to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Nothing about this is _easier_ ,” Stiles spat. Lydia reached out to him, and Stiles jerked away from her. “I can’t believe you would do something like this! You’re _Lydia_.”

“Stiles-”

“ _Stop_ ,” Stiles growled, and Isaac made a high, unnatural whining sound. Derek stood from the sofa, and Scott frowned deeply. Stiles shook his head, dropped the letter, and pressed two closed fists to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just…”

Lydia stepped forward, wrapping her small hands around Stiles’ wrists and pulling his hands away from his face. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I just thought…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have to leave early to get set up on the east coast.” She let their foreheads fall together. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered. Lydia shut her eyes.

“I’m leaving today,” Lydia said, and Stiles shook his head, jostling hers with the movement. “I don’t-” Her breath hitched. “I don’t want to leave.”

Stiles laughed. “Yes, you do. You _totally_ want to leave. You want to go to Harvard and be a mathematician and win the Fields medal, Lydia, and you’re going to do all those things, because you’re _Lydia_ and how could you _not_.”

The room was silent for a moment before Lydia laughed tearfully and Allison carefully put a hand on her shoulder. Lydia pulled away from Stiles, wiping at her face with the back of her hand.

“If you want, you guys can drive me and my mom to the airport,” Lydia suggested, and Stiles nodded, taking hold of one of her hands and squeezing it.

“I’ll take you guys in my Jeep,” Stiles said, but quickly continued, adding, “And, of course, Allison,” when Allison cleared her throat. She smiled at him. “When’s your flight?”

“Uhm,” Lydia said delicately. She looked at the clock on the wall that Stiles had bought for Derek - a clock that detailed not only the time, but also the phases of the moon. He had hung it up as soon as he brought it, and Derek was yet to take it down. It made Stiles’ stomach flip a little bit every time he saw that it was still up on the wall, but he tried not to think about that too much. “Two o’clock, actually. But I was planning on getting there for noon, just to make sure everything was all set, and-”

“So, what you’re saying is, we have to go get all your stuff and leave,” Stiles said, and Lydia shrugged.

“I was just going to slip that note to you and leave,” Lydia reminded him, and Stiles released her hand, turning to try and find his shoes and keys.

“Let’s get to getting, then,” Stiles instructed, and everyone started scrambling around, looking for discarded clothes and keys and shoes. Lydia handed Stiles his jeans, and he noticed, red-faced, that he had fallen asleep on the floor in his undershirt and boxers. Derek gave Stiles the shirt he had discarded the night before.

“Thanks,” Stiles murmured, attempting to drag his shirt on at the same time he tried to pull his pants on. He fell over and would have hit his head on the edge of the table, were it not for Isaac’s quick reflexes. Lydia guided him through dressing before tossing his keys at his face.

“We’re picking up my mom,” Lydia informed him. “My bags are in my trunk, but we can put them in yours. One of the puppies can bring my car back home.” Lydia held out her keys but, when Ethan reached out to take them, snatched them back and tsked. “No. One of the _trustworthy_ puppies. Isaac or Danny.” She held the keys out again, and Danny took them this time. Lydia pat him on the head.

“I’m not actually a wolf, you know,” Danny reminded her. Lydia raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say “wolf”. I said “puppy”.” Lydia motioned for Stiles, who had just finished shoving his feet into his sneakers. He stood up straight and smoothed his hair back with his free hand. She turned back to address the room at large. “Who’s coming?”

“Me,” Allison said immediately, and Stiles nodded as she came to stand by Lydia’s side. Aiden raised his hand awkwardly, then came to stand with them by the door, as well. Isaac hesitated, then came over to them. Scott, too, moved with them, and Stiles sighed.

“Someone’s sitting in someone’s lap if we’re all in my Jeep and we have to get her mom,” Stiles informed them. Lydia’s hand flew to her nose, and she grinned. Aiden and Allison both touched their noses, as well, and Isaac acted as though he was upset at he and Scott having lost, but Scott smiled and gave them both away. Lydia and Stiles rolled their eyes in synchronization.

“Okay, Lydia and her mom will be up front with me,” Stiles said. “This isn’t going to be safe, but half the car is werewolves, so I’m not too worried.” He turned and pointed at Derek. “You coming? Tailing us, or something?”

“No, I’ll stay here,” Derek answered. After a brief staring contest, Stiles shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” Stiles allowed. Lydia stepped over the pillows and blankets on the floor until she reached Cora, who she tightly embraced. Cora seemed stunned for a moment, but she returned the embrace.

“I’ll miss you,” Lydia said quietly, and Cora nodded.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Cora replied. Lydia stood for a moment before releasing her. She held her at arm’s length and looked hard into her eyes.

“I’ll text you,” Lydia finally said, and Cora nodded again. Lydia nodded once and moved on to Ethan, who she embraced, then gave a good-natured threat about what would happen if he did not write to her. She waved Danny forward. “You’re coming to my house,” she reminded him, and he nodded, holding up her keys. Lydia stepped in front of Derek.

“Bye, Lydia,” Derek said gruffly, and Lydia clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” Lydia scolded before reaching up to hug him. Derek hesitated, then hugged her back cautiously. Lydia pressed her face closer to the side of his head, her lips by his ear.

“Take care of him especially,” Lydia said, soft enough that only Derek would be able to hear her. Derek’s brow furrowed in his confusion, and he looked into her face for clarification when she pulled back, but she just shook her head. She stepped back and looked around the room for a moment.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” she said quietly. She paused, then smiled. “I’ll Skype you tonight, how’s that?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles agreed as he opened the front door. “Come on, then.” He ushered her out, then saluted to Derek. “See you tonight, Big Bad.”

Derek rolled his eyes and offered a stiff wave in response. The door shut behind the pack that left. Ethan looked at Cora and Derek for a moment before offering an awkward goodbye and escaping out the front door. Cora whistled as the door shut behind him.

“You want to stop undressing Stiles with your eyes in front of the pack?” Cora asked sarcastically. “It’s unbecoming.”

“Shut up and start cleaning,” Derek growled. Cora rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at her brother’s face. Derek tackled her to the ground, but she shoved him off quickly.

“Unlike some people, I actually have a job to get to,” Cora reminded him. She shoved the pillow into his arms. “You clean. I’ll be back for dinner, mooch.”

“ _You’re_ the mooch,” Derek snapped back, but Cora just waved at him as she disappeared to shower and put on her Starbucks uniform. Derek shuffled about, trying not to listen to the sounds of Stiles struggling to shove everyone in his Jeep outside.

“Make rag pudding for dinner, please?” Cora asked with false sweetness as she appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, tying her hair up. Derek raised an eyebrow at her as he finished folding a blanket. He tossed it over the arm of the sofa.

“Maybe,” Derek allowed, and Cora pressed a kiss to his cheek before grabbing her keys and leaving, the door slamming shut behind her. Derek sighed and looked around the empty, clean room before he grabbed his own keys.

* * *

10:00 that night came, and, with it, the front door slamming shut and startling Derek awake from his seat in the armchair. Stiles poked his head around the corner and relaxed when he saw Derek was alone. He pried his sneakers off and collapse onto the sofa.

“That was rough,” Stiles said, pretending his voice did not crack halfway through, and Derek indulged him by ignoring it, as well. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. “She Skyped me on my phone. She was sad you weren’t there.”

“I’m sure I’ll talk to her next time,” Derek allowed, still blinking himself awake. Stiles shifted and yawned, and Derek remembered, belatedly, that he had made dinner. Stiles beat him to the punch, though, as he sit up and looked curiously in the direction of the kitchen.

“What’d you make for dinner?” Stiles asked. Before Derek could even answer, Stiles had vaulted over the back of the sofa and was heading for the kitchen. Derek sighed and forced himself up, following after Stiles.

“I made-”

“-rag pudding,” Stiles breathed before Derek could finish. He was already pulling his plate out of the oven. He looked up at Derek. “Thank you.”

“I saved what I could from the others,” Derek explained. Stiles waved him off and stuck the plate in the microwave to heat it up. “Why didn’t you come back with them?”

“Lydia said some stuff,” Stiles murmured, in the general direction of his feet and the linoleum kitchen floor. “I needed to think about it. I went for a drive.”

“Oh.” Derek paused, then sat down at the kitchen table. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Stiles replied, pulling the plate out of the microwave before it could beep and wake anyone up. He sat down in the seat next to Derek and handed him a fork. Derek accepted it and poked at one part of the meal on the plate while Stiles started wolfing down his portion.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked, hesitantly. Stiles looked up and swallowed, then raised an eyebrow at Derek.

“No, I’m alright.” Stiles paused, looking Derek over. “When did you become the Feelings Police?”

“Shut up and eat your dinner,” Derek ordered gruffly. Stiles grinned childishly at him and returned to his food.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, a bit later, when he was finished eating. He leaned back in his chair and played absently with his fork. He did not meet Derek’s eyes. “For dinner, and for- for staying up, you know. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Derek said, and stopped himself from continuing. Stiles looked up at him, then put his fork down. He rested his elbows on the table and shoved his face into his hands. Derek hesitated, then put one hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles leaned towards him, and Derek let Stiles press himself into his side. He put one arm around him and held him close. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I know,” Stiles mumbled, his voice muffled by Derek’s chest. His chest rose and fell sharply. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Derek murmured. He rested his head on top of Stiles’ and rubbed at his back. “It’s okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha look at how pretty Allison is   
> I cherish her
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions.


	14. A Time To Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles take a brief intermission.

“Yo, Scott!” Stiles shouted as he jogged onto the field from his Jeep. He dropped his duffle bag and lacrosse stick; Scott waved to him and jerked his helmet back, freeing his face.

“What are we practicing today?” Scott asked, and Stiles shook his head. He fell to his knees, rummaging through the duffle bag for his pack of practice balls.

“We’re not practicing, we’re just playing around,” Stiles answered. He pulled the balls out and ripped one out, then grabbed his helmet and shoved it on. He tugged his gloves on, grabbed the ball and his stick, and stood. “Nobody else is here, what would we be practicing?”

Scott shrugged, pulling his helmet back into place and readjusting his grip on his own stick. He stepped into the goal and tapped the ground with his stick.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Scott called, and Stiles tossed his duffel bag off to the sidelines. He put the ball in the net pocket and stood a proper distance away. He pointed at Scott.

“No funny werewolf business,” Stiles shouted. Scott grinned and let his eyes flash red; Stiles sighed heavily, but ran forward anyways, pitching the ball at the corner of the goal. Scott sent it flying back in a second, and it hit Stiles hard in the center of his chest. Stiles tripped backwards and hit the ground, but jumped back up in the next second.

“I’m okay!” he exclaimed, and Scott just laughed. Stiles picked the ball up again, and did the same thing, but faked Scott out this time, making to shoot for the corner but shooting it directly in the center instead. Scott still fired it back at him, but it was the strategy that counted, probably.

“Would it kill you to at least pretend to act human?” Stiles called, and Scott threw the ball back at him with unneeded speed. Stiles ducked and let the ball fly through where his face had been seconds earlier.

“Sorry, bad throw,” Scott lied, badly, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Sure it was,” Stiles grumbled. Scott grinned. “Of course you heard me, you supernatural-”

“We going to play or we going to name-call?” Scott said, throwing his arms wide. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t we do both? I’m particularly adept at both,” Stiles answered, and Scott was clearly struggling not to smile as he said,

“You’re adept at _one_ , at least.”

Stiles dropped his stick. “That’s it, McCall, you’re going down.”

Scott threw his stick to the sidelines and beckoned Stiles forward. “Bring it on, Stilinski!”

Number 24 rushed number 11 in the next moment, and Scott let Stiles tackle him to the grass, but he had his friend pinned in seconds. Stiles sighed, going limp underneath Scott.

“Sometimes, I regret this whole ‘don’t bite me’ thing,” Stiles admitted, and Scott laughed. He jumped up onto his feet and extended a hand to Stiles. Stiles took the offered hand, and Scott hauled him up to his feet for him. Stiles pulled his helmet off and held it under one arm as Scott grabbed his hand and did their handshake with him.

“You don’t really,” Scott reminded him. Stiles shrugged, then smiled. Scott frowned at him in confusion. Stiles held up a hand.

“You’re right,” Stiles agreed. Scott cocked his head, reminding Stiles remarkably of a puppy. “I have something that is, in my opinion, _much_ better.”

Scott barely had the time to shout at Stiles before Stiles turned his gloved palm so it was facing towards Scott. Stiles exclaimed, “ _Avolavit_ ,” and Scott flew backwards, flipping through the air. He landed on his feet, using one hand to brace himself in his crouched position, and Stiles laughed.

“You’re getting much better with that one,” Stiles complimented as Scott straightened up and adjusted his gloves. Scott tried to glare at Stiles, but they both just ended up laughing. Scott ran straight at Stiles, tackling him to the ground. Once they were there, however, Scott just flopped onto his back to lay beside Stiles in the grass. The two of them looked up at the sky in silence for a moment before Scott spoke again.

“Why did you want to come play?” Scott asked. Stiles shrugged awkwardly in his horizontal position. He folded his arms behind his head.

“I wanted to do something not serious for once,” Stiles answered. “Everything has been so serious lately, with Lydia moving and pack stuff and just… everything.” He paused for a moment, then nudged Scott. “Plus, I miss you.”

“You’re literally never without me,” Scott reminded him, and Stiles shrugged again.

“I miss you as my best friend and not my alpha,” Stiles amended. Scott turned his head to look at Stiles at the same time Stiles turned to look at Scott.

“You’re always my best friend,” Scott said, looking hurt for a moment, and Stiles nodded.

“I know what you mean,” Stiles said, then paused. “And you know what I mean, don’t you?”

Scott thought for a moment, and his hurt expression left his face, much to Stiles’ relief. “I know what you mean.”

“Thanks.” Stiles and Scott both fell silent again. They looked at each other for a moment more, then looked back up at the sky. The quiet continued for a good three minutes before Stiles pointed up at a cloud.

“Is it just me, or does that cloud look like Deadpool?” Stiles asked, and Scott smacked his chest in a sudden burst of excitement.

“Dude, _yes_ , it does, I thought I was just imagining things!” Scott exclaimed, and Stiles rubbed at his chest while Scott was not looking.

“It looks _exactly_ like Deadpool,” Stiles said definitely, and Scott nodded.

“And that one looks like Leatherback,” Scott pointed out.

“Dude. _Yes_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at @Nicole_Liane or on Tumblr at andillwriteyouatragedy, humanconsciousnessenthusiast, worksbynlmello, or nlmellocommissions.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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